Moments of Truth
by JMcK
Summary: Sara is seriously ill. Grissom is seriously scared. And therefore, everything will change between them.
1. Chapter 1

**Moments of Truth**

Chapter One

Sara felt hollow.

Nothing seemed real.

The smell of disinfectant was overpowering. She'd always loved that smell. Clean was good. Hospitals were supposed to be clean, after all.

Today that scent made her sick. Or _more_ sick, rather, under the circumstances.

Working a case that brought her here was one thing.

Aimlessly wandering hospital hallways because everything hurt… and fear and dread overwhelmed her… and she had _no one to go home to_… that was something else entirely.

The words echoed in her head as she focused on putting one foot in front of the other, again and again.

"_It seems that the situation may be somewhat worse than we initially thought." _

"_I really am very sorry." _

"_It's just one of life's cruel jokes. Health can be an illusion." _

"_Is there someone we could call for you?" _

But there wasn't anyone to call, because her family was dead or otherwise unavailable to her, and her friends… well, seeing her fears reflected in their eyes would just be too much for her. She would have to acknowledge reality, and be strong for them, and she couldn't do that just yet. Some small part of her still wanted to pretend.

Sooner or later she would tell Grissom. He deserved to know, so that he could be prepared, both as her supervisor and her friend.

There was more to it than that, of course. There was always more to it than that when it came to Grissom.

Selfish or not, weak or not, the bottom line was that she needed him. Standing on your own too feet was well and good until you couldn't anymore. Somewhere along the line even Sara Sidle needed support. And that point was rapidly approaching.

She wanted him to hold her until she stopped shaking. And for a while after that. Maybe forever.

Sara kept wandering until she found herself at the edge of the moonlit parking lot, with no concept of time passing or light fading.

Moments later, alone and still in her quiet car, her blurry vision told her she was crying.

_Damn him_, she mused silently.

Logical thought evaded her. All that existed was the hellish knowledge of what was to come. And more to the point, what was not to come.

Her life might be occasionally lonely and miserable, but she had her joys and triumphs; her friends and her successes. That was enough for now. And she'd had hope for so much more. Perhaps even with Grissom.

It was several minutes later that Sara reached for her key ring and lifted it to the ignition. This tiny motion caused the slightest ache in her arm muscles, and the pain in her abdomen intensified briefly, and the tears came harder and faster.

It wasn't fucking fair. It had been too many years.

And she'd tried so hard for so long to be strong.

…

"Sara Sidle took a day off? What is the world coming to? Hey Warrick, you think they're doing axels in hell right about now?" Nick teased, and Warrick played along, tossing a grin in Sara's direction.

"Oh, yeah, I think I saw a hog or two flying past the window earlier."

Back at work and relaxing in the break room before the start of shift, Sara managed what she thought was an amused smile and sat down heavily at the table.

"Jealousy suits you, Nick," she threw at him. "You have a lot of experience in that area?"

"Me? Jealous?"

"Ten weeks on the books, Nicky. What have you got racked up?"

Leaning back in his chair comfortably, Nick opened his mouth to form a smart ass response, but when Grissom and Catherine entered he sat up and got ready to work.

Sara, on the other hand, let her mind wander. She knew she'd taken moments like this for granted. The silliness with Nick and Warrick. The camaraderie of being part of their team.

She wanted more time.

"What have we got?" Nick asked Grissom curiously.

"419 at the Golden Peacock Motel, down by the I-15," Grissom informed him, "And --"

"I'll take it solo, thank you very much," Nick tried good-naturedly, and Grissom shook his head, indicating 'no'.

"You can be the primary, but you're taking Catherine and Sara with you. Warrick and I have a jewelry store robbery."

Warrick looked less than thrilled, but said nothing.

"And Greg is?" Catherine asked Grissom.

"Has the night off," Grissom told her, following Warrick out of the room.

Catherine acknowledged Grissom's answer with a tiny nod and followed Nick toward the door. They both turned back in confusion when Sara didn't automatically get up and come with them. Nick caught Sara's gaze and gestured toward the door.

"You coming?" He took on a joking tone. "Or you taking another of those vacation days you've got racked up?"

Whatever trance-like state had come over Sara quickly disappeared, and she joined her colleagues in the hallway.

"I'm driving," Nick announced.

"No, I'm driving," Catherine corrected him.

"Who's the primary?"

"Who's the senior CSI?"

Nick and Catherine both wore amused smiles, and Nick turned to look at Sara.

"You not going to fight the good fight on this one?" he asked her, and she shrugged and walked on in front of them.

They watched her go, curious about her attitude and lack of response for only the briefest of moments before moving on to discussing something else.

…

"…samples… DNA…"

Sara blinked rapidly a few times, and tried to shake her head back and forth as slowly and inconspicuously as possible. What had Catherine just said?

"…once in a blue moon… timing doesn't suck…"

Sitting in the back of the vehicle as the trio returned to the lab from their crime scene, Sara tried to focus, tried to clear her foggy mind. The doctors had listed extreme fatigue among symptoms to be prepared for, but this lightheadedness and disorientation was more than she had expected at this point.

"Sara? You got that?"

"Sara?" Nick echoed Catherine. Cath had parked and they were both stepping out into the parking lot. Sara shoved her own door open.

"Sorry… my mind was somewhere else…" Sara managed to speak rather coherently, or so it seemed to her. "You were saying…?"

"Can you get these samples to DNA?" Catherine asked for the third time, glancing at Nick when Sara didn't meet her eyes.

"You okay?" Nick asked, his voice full of concern. "You're white as a sheet."

"I… haven't eaten anything… in a while. Or slept. I'm… a bit lightheaded. S'okay."

Knowing it was past time to stand up, Sara swung her legs around slowly, and with considerable effort. Nick's eyes narrowed.

"Sara…"

Sara ignored him and made a feeble attempt to exit the vehicle, but she found herself pitching forward. Had Nick not reached out for her, only the concrete would have broken her fall.

"Hey! Hey, Sar? Sara?" Nick's tone took on a vague note of panic.

"Fine…" Sara told him as clearly as she could manage. "Tired…"

"You're not fine!" Catherine told her emphatically, and it was all Sara could do to shake her head in disagreement.

Her two colleagues began discussing what to do with her as if she wasn't even present, and in the time it took for them to argue over whether to take her to Grissom or call for Dr. Robbins, she found the dizzy spell beginning to pass.

"I'm fine," she told them again, but this time she sounded well enough that it seemed relatively plausible that she was telling the truth, and Nick loosened his hold on her.

"You been sick?" Catherine asked, and Sara shook her head, well aware that she was lying through her teeth.

Nick looked her over for a long moment, then sighed and relented.

"Okay. But you're not driving anywhere!" He declared. "And you should probably get a checkup or somethin'. You nearly passed right out cold."

His voice was authoritative but vaguely brotherly, and Sara gave him a crooked smile.

"Will do, Nick."

"Can I give you a ride home?" he offered, but before Sara could respond Warrick's voice broke into the discussion.

"Ride? Home? And here I thought I could talk you boring work-a-holics into grabbing a beer. Or five!" Warrick tossed a smile in Catherine's general direction as he approached them. "You game?"

"For the one, sure. Not the five. I've gotta pick up Linds later."

"Nicky Stokes?" Warrick turned to face him.

"Sure. I might be up for the five," Nick said with a smile. "But I'm gonna drop Sara at her place --"

"No, I --"

"What's up? You sick?" Warrick questioned Sara, and she shook her head.

"No, I'm not, and no, I actually don't need a ride home, either --"

"Sara…" Nick's tone was one of warning.

"I don't need a ride 'cause I'm not leaving yet," Sara explained, glancing at Nick, who seemed to accept that for now. "You guys go ahead. I've, uh… I gotta talk to Griss."

There was a brief moment of awkwardness, and then all four exchanged parting looks and Catherine, Nick and Warrick wandered off together.

Sara headed across the lot toward the lab on tired, achy legs, anticipating and dreading what she was about to do.

Part of her was afraid to tell him. Afraid he wouldn't let her work anymore. Afraid of the pain that would or wouldn't be in his eyes.

But it had to be done.

Sooner rather than later, clearly.

…

"Grissom?"

Grissom looked up from the folder in his hands and carefully hid the smile that threatened to appear on his face. Sara in his doorway was such a familiar and welcome sight at the end of a shift. There was something to be said for the comfort of familiarity.

There was also something to be said for the sheer, fleeting joy of the presence of the person you most wanted near you. Even if you couldn't say it out loud.

"How was your 419?" Grissom asked conversationally, but before he even finished the sentence something in the back of his mind was screaming at him that something was wrong. She wasn't smiling softly and awkwardly, or frustrated over a case. That would have been normal.

He couldn't put a name on the expression on her face, but it was something like weary, something like defeated.

Something like afraid and almost apologetic.

Sara wandered into the room and looked at him almost as if asking for permission, then turned and closed his office door without waiting for a response.

"Sara?"

"You have a minute?" she asked softly, expectantly, and he could only watch her and let his mind drift to distressing thoughts.

She'd been quiet lately. And pale. And tired. And dressing for comfort.

And Nick was leading overtime for the month.

He prayed that all of that didn't have to mean anything.

"Why did you shut the door?" he asked her, his voice calm but laced with something that sounded distinctly like fear.

She sat down across from him and met his gaze.

The silence seemed somehow loud as they looked at each other, and she tried to find the words.

"I've been dealing with some things lately," she started quietly. "And at first I hoped it wouldn't have to affect work, but it's, uh… It's going to."

She paused, deeply affected by the emotion he was trying but failing to hide.

"I'm sorry, I…" she stumbled over the words. "I didn't want to make this a big production… I didn't mean for this to get intense, I just… I don't know how to explain this."

"Tell me."

"I'm sick," she finally said simply. "And it's serious. And… I, uh…"

Her voice broke, emotion threatening to overcome her, and she looked away, unable to look in his eyes and say what she had to say.

She had to make it about work. She could say it if she made it about work.

"I just figured you needed to know… that, uh… you might have to replace me by this time next year. If not sooner."

Grissom might have laughed at the absurdity of the words if they hadn't pierced his heart so acutely.

Sara, replaceable? It was unthinkable.

He stared at her, his mind a mess. Something inside of him was screaming in protest. A mantra running through his head pleaded for more time. He found himself looking her over for signs of distress.

"Are you in pain?" He had to know.

"Sometimes."

He wanted to cry at that, and the part of him that was used to denying what he felt for her insisted that he wonder why.

"What is it?" He finally asked, when the intensity of the silence and the staring and the reality of what she'd just told him was too much.

"Hepatitis C. Quite possibly also liver cancer. I'm waiting on test results… they're monitoring my liver function. As an outpatient."

Grissom took a minute to digest that. He knew a little something about Hepatitis C, but his mind refused to call up many details.

"When did you…" He cleared his throat. "When did this start?"

"I haven't known long, but it started a while back. I was so tired… such fatigue… folding laundry actually made my arm muscles ache. And I thought if I stopped pulling doubles and got some real sleep it would go away, but… it didn't. And when I started getting other symptoms, I eventually went to a doctor."

"Other symptoms?"

"Bruising I couldn't explain. Occasional nausea. Pain." She stated all of this simply but not without emotion, and placed her hand on her upper right abdomen when she mentioned the pain.

They were quiet and still for what could have been seconds or minutes for all either of them knew.

He wanted to ask her how she acquired the disease, but he thought he remembered that it could lie dormant in the body for years, even decades, and he didn't want her to shut down and back away emotionally if he stumbled onto a childhood memory she wasn't willing to share.

"Treatment?" He finally asked, fearing he knew the answer.

"They tell me my symptoms suggest either advanced Hep C or advanced liver cancer. Or both. There's a chance they'll be able to treat it with drug therapy. Interferon, it's called. But if it's advanced as far as they think it is, the only effective treatment is a transplant."

She delivered this blow with an almost sympathetic look, and Grissom closed his eyes briefly. He knew only too well what that would likely mean.

Transplant.

Death by waiting list.

Dear.

God.

No.

He met her gaze and she looked back at him without a word. Something almost tortured was brewing in his troubled eyes. They mirrored her own.

With their eyes locked, and their hearts heavy, for one moment there was something pure and uncomplicated between them like nothing that ever had been there before.

Appearances and insecurities meant nothing now. In the quiet and stillness and devastation of his little office, there was room for nothing but emotional truth.

He stood on rubbery legs, and she stood too, for no reason other than that he was standing. He rounded his desk and approached her slowly, and she stared at him with eyes pleading for comfort as a lone tear made its way down her cheek.

When he reached out to her he was tentative at first. It was new and precious, foreign but somehow a kind of relief, when he ever-so-gently pulled her to him and enveloped her in his arms.

She closed her eyes and marvelled at the fact that the nightmare she was living had been the catalyst for this moment.

He closed his eyes and held on tight.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Grissom had always known that he _could_ love Sara, if he ever found a way to give himself the chance. But it wasn't until this moment, with the strongest woman in his world trembling in his arms, that it occurred to him that he already did.

Dear.

God.

No.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's note: To everyone who reviewed chapter one - thank you so much for taking the time to respond to this! Contrary to what it seems, it really does inspire me to keep writing. I had every intention of updating this story long before now, but real life got in the way. I plan to update soon, and would so appreciate any feedback! _

_drakien - thanks for the tip about Albuferon! I'll have to look into it!_

**Moments of Truth**

Chapter Two

Gil Grissom had always loved books.

He preferred books to online research.

Truth be told, he also preferred books to people, more often than not.

Today books weren't enough. It might have been that he had an emotional investment in Hepatitis C now, and it was clouding his mind. Or maybe it was just that his books were outdated. Whatever the reason, he found himself needing more than his books could give him.

And so he turned to an old friend.

"I'll tell you what I can, Gil." Dr. Robbins offered. He looked expectantly at Grissom across the empty autopsy table, waiting.

"I've been doing some reading on the subject," Grissom said evenly after a moment. "I think I'm clear on most of the details. I've brushed up on the symptoms and the treatments…" Dr. Robbins' eyes narrowed, intrigued, when Grissom paused briefly.

"Is this about the Branston case?" Dr. Robbins asked, curious.

"No." It was simple and direct. Grissom's tone conveyed a subtle 'don't ask', and Dr. Robbins didn't. "What I'm not sure I'm entirely clear on is the transmission of the virus."

"The virus is transmitted through blood. It's nothing particularly complicated or unusual, Gil. What specifically is puzzling you?"

Grissom looked over at Dr. Robbins, wondering how exactly to phrase his questions. It wasn't that he didn't understand how the virus was transmitted, but rather that he wasn't sure how it might apply to Sara.

"I'm just looking for confirmation on a few things," Grissom explained. "For starters, most commonly transmission is through blood transfusion or drug use?"

"Well, admittedly I haven't read any recent studies, but generally yes to the drug use. The sharing of contaminated syringes is the number one cause, but if memory serves that includes tattooing. Blood transfusion transmission hasn't been prevalent in about fifteen years, thanks to extensive screening."

"But the virus often presents no symptoms, quite possibly for years," Grissom pointed out. His working theory was that a never-mentioned, long-ago blood transfusion was the culprit and the disease had simply gone undetected over a long period of time.

"Something like four out of five patients don't experience any symptoms at all. Of course, if the disease progresses or contributes to cirrhosis or liver cancer, that can all change. Abdominal pain, weight loss, nausea, fatigue, blood clotting problems --"

Grissom held up his hand to stop Dr. Robbins from continuing.

He knew only too well.

"So in theory, then," Grissom pushed on, forcing himself to at least appear detached. "A patient experiencing symptoms now could have had a transfusion several years ago, before the screening processes were in place."

"Sure. It's possible. Certainly not the only explanation, though. There are rare cases of mother to child transmission, and very rare cases of sexual transmission."

That caught Grissom's attention sharply, and he slowly shook his head, in confusion rather than disagreement. He had ruled out sexual transmission.

"Hep C is transmitted through blood," Grissom stated simply.

"Right."

"Not semen."

"Well, there _are_ studies that would like to contradict that. But generally I'm inclined to agree with you."

"Then…?" Grissom left the question open-ended, his mouth hanging open slightly.

Dr. Robbins reported the rest in his usual impersonal way. As far as he knew they were talking about a case, or perhaps a theoretical victim.

Not one of their own.

Not Sara.

"The sexual activity would have to be unusual," Dr. Robbins informed Grissom. "Rough, violent, to the point of an exchange of blood."

Grissom swallowed hard.

"Rape."

"Likely."

…

It made so much sense that it hurt.

Alone in his office, Grissom mulled it over, staring miserably at everything and nothing.

He'd told himself for years that Sara reacted strongly to rape cases because she was a woman.

But Catherine was a woman, too. And he'd worked with other women.

Sara was the only one he'd ever seen in tears over a rape case. Sara was the only one who identified with the victims so intensely that it threatened to break her.

Pamela Adler… Suzanna Kirkwood… Both cases came to mind immediately, though they weren't the only ones. Both had haunted Sara.

Maybe a lot of things haunted Sara.

Grissom rubbed his eyes tiredly for a moment, trying to ignore what felt like a pit of acid rolling around in his stomach.

He wouldn't interrogate her about this. She didn't deserve that.

But he couldn't just sit there, either.

Before long he found himself locking up his office and heading out to the parking lot.

And when he pulled out of the lot and onto the street, he turned toward her place rather than his.

…

Sara slowly swung open the door. Grissom didn't have the words he needed.

It was a familiar feeling. He'd never had the words, particularly when it came to caring about her.

"I'm doing okay," Sara said quietly, answering an unasked question, letting him off the hook like so many times before.

For just a few seconds, she watched him watch her. His face betrayed very little.

He was taking in the sad little smile she gave him, the pallor of her skin, the silence and stillness of the moment as they stood there on opposite sides of her door.

And he was wondering if maybe, just maybe, somehow the gut instinct that told him how she'd acquired the disease could be mercifully wrong.

"Do you want to come in?"

"Yes."

He waited for her to turn and go into her apartment before he followed.

"Can I get you something? Coffee? Water? That's really all I've got."

Even her voice was tired, and they both heard it.

"I'm fine," he told her softly, and they fell into silence again.

She stood leaning against her desk, and it occurred to him that she was too proud to let him think she was too tired to stand, and so he sat down hoping she would follow suit.

Sara took the other end of the couch.

"May I ask you something personal?" Grissom asked after a moment, and Sara tensed.

"You can ask, but I make no guarantees about answering." Her tone was light, but there was something wary underneath.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

She watched, waited, prepared to build up defensive, figurative walls at record speed if he went _there_.

"Do you have any family nearby?" He asked, settling on something less intrusive and personal than how she acquired the disease, for both of their sakes.

"No," she answered him, breathing a little bit easier. "But that's been working for me for years."

"Friends in the neighborhood?"

Sara smiled a wry little smile.

"My sunshiny personality doesn't exactly attract friends in droves." She left it at that, but something made her continue, to clarify again. "Like I said, it's been working for me."

"I want you to feel free to call on me," he said very seriously. "I want to be…" Grissom searched for the appropriate word, something that meant enough but not too much. "Available. To you."

"I appreciate that," she said, nodding slightly as she spoke, in a way that emphasized what she was saying. "I do."

Their eyes locked, and when it was too intense he tore his gaze away.

"How are you doing?" He finally got around to asking the obvious question, and she shrugged her heavy shoulders and turned a thoughtful gaze on the floor.

"I'm still here. This still sucks. My head really isn't in a talking-about-it place just yet. Work helps." The truth was that work was hard, physically, to get through. But mentally, it helped. It filled her mind in a familiar and distracting way, and that was a blessing.

As if on cue, both of their pagers started screeching simultaneously, hers on an end table nearby and his attached to his belt.

"419, triple, Summerlin, all hands on deck" she read aloud, automatically filling in the words for abbreviations. The address flashed on her pager screen, and she looked up to find Grissom's eyes were worried. (Or was that concerned?)

"I can do this," she told him firmly, understanding the question in his expression immediately.

"I could cover for you with Ecklie, if you want to keep all of this to yourself for a little while longer," he offered.

"What I want is to work," she told him pointedly, and he gave her a slightly incredulous look. "What? I'm doing okay today. I can handle printing or swabbing some -"

"Summerlin? Triple? The press will be milking it for all it's worth and more, and the interference of the Sheriff and -"

"All of which you can handle! Or, better yet, have Catherine handle!"

"I don't know if it's a good idea."

"She's good with the politics -"

"Sara, you know what I'm talking about -"

"Look, Grissom, I didn't have to come to you with this!" Sara nearly yelled, panicking a little bit at the thought that her precious career could be slipping away even sooner than expected. "I could have just kept working!"

"We're talking about hours working the most grueling kind of case -"

"I can handle it! I can do this, Grissom, I promise you I won't screw up, I -"

"I'm just concerned -"

"You don't need to be! I would remove myself before I ever let the evidence be compromised! You should know that about me by now -"

"I do -"

" – and I came to you as a friend, so pulling rank on me right now with a call like this is just -"

"Sara!" Grissom finally raised his voice, cutting her off sharply, and she quieted and took a deep breath.

She fixed a stony look on him, but when tears pooled in her eyes the defiance disappeared, and all he could see was a silent plea – _don't take this away from me!_

"I trust you," he said softly but emphatically, and he leaned in just a little bit closer when a lone tear rolled down her cheek. "I do know you better. I'm worried about _you_. Not the case."

"That's a first," she nearly whispered, a little bit thrown, her eyes studying his.

He shook his head almost imperceptibly, and gently brushed the trail of her tears with his thumb.

"No it's not."

…

"Catherine?"

"Hmmm?"

"Have you seen Sara?"

"Printing," Catherine answered distractedly, staring intently at the blood drops on the floor in front of her.

"She _was_ printing," Grissom told her. "Now she's M.I.A."

"Washroom break?" Catherine suggested without looking up, and Grissom sighed and looked around the room.

He had relented and let Sara make the decision for herself, and he'd left her working the interior with Catherine and Warrick after securing a promise from her that she would stop if she needed to.

Of course, he had hoped she wouldn't need to.

"Sara? She was dragging," Warrick offered from his place by the door, tweezers in hand.

"Dragging?"

"Looked real tired. Working kind of slow. Said something about going to find Greg."

"Thanks," Grissom told Warrick over his shoulder, and then he was off to find Greg himself.

Greg found him instead, as soon as he stepped outside.

"Everything okay with Sara?" Greg's voice asked from somewhere behind Grissom, and Grissom spun to face him.

"Where is she?"

"I don't think she's feeling so good."

"Greg, where did you see her?"

Greg pointed, and Grissom turned to look. From his vantage point all he could see was her legs hanging out the open door of their crime lab on wheels, which was thankfully all but hidden from the press across the yard. He quickly approached and found her sitting on the floor of the vehicle, her right hand pressed firmly against the right side of her abdomen, and her jaw clenched.

It seemed she was waiting, quietly enduring something foreign to him, and his voice was tentative when he spoke.

"Sara?"

She looked up, but said nothing.

"Can I do something?" he asked.

Sara just shook her head, indicating 'no'.

"I'm sorry," she said after a moment, her eyes on the ground, and he sat down next to her.

"Don't be. I'll get Nick to run with your prints."

"I'm okay, I just needed a minute," she protested, but there was no insistence in her tone, no fight left in the empty words.

He sat with her, close to her in the small space, with their legs nearly touching and his warm hand covering hers.

It occurred to him that never in his life had he been so distracted from his work. Even more surprising was the fact that he barely noticed, barely even cared.

He chose his words carefully, and let them hang there in the air between them.

"I would really like to take you home."

She wasn't sure what to do with that at first, but she opted to ignore the tenderness of his tone… just for the moment, just until she was sure it was really there.

"You've got a triple homicide to deal with."

"Catherine would gladly take over."

"If you want me to go home you can have Greg or a uniform drop me at my place," Sara pointed out meaningfully, watching him.

He waited a beat before answering.

"I'd rather take you myself."

"Why?"

"Because I want to see for myself that you're there and you're okay and you're getting some rest."

"Why?"

She was gently testing him, intentionally pushing him, looking for a reaction, and they both knew it.

So many times she'd done that and he had backed off.

But things were different now.

Up was down and down was up and priorities had changed and consciousness of time passing and time slipping away ruled his thoughts.

And so he said it.

Nothing elaborate.

But enough.

The moment's simple truth.

"Because I want to be with you right now."


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's note: I was just blown away by the wonderful response to the last chapter of this little fic. I'm new to the world of and I haven't quite figured it all out yet (like, for example, whether replying to reviews is a simple and routine practice) but I want to thank all the reviewers right now. Every response is much appreciated and so encouraging, but it's a special joy to hear from those of you who are so thoughtful in your reviews, who choose a favorite line or moment or tell me exactly what it is that's working. _

_Thank you. I only hope I don't let you down from here on in. _

**Moments of Truth**

Chapter Three

A loud clatter from the kitchen woke Sara out of a restless slumber, mercifully ending a dated nightmare that was all too real.

Her eyes flew open, darting around in search of her gun until a muffled curse traveled from the kitchen, and she recognized the familiar voice.

Why the hell was Grissom in her kitchen?

She knew that he had driven her home from the crime scene. She had dozed during the drive, and she remembered waking to the sound of his voice gently calling her name and his hand gently squeezing hers. She thought she remembered him guiding her from the car to her door, and maybe even through the halls to her bedroom…

After that, she remembered nothing.

She took stock of what she was wearing and realized she hadn't changed before getting into bed. She wasn't wearing shoes, but otherwise she was dressed as she had been at the crime scene.

It occurred to her that it was silly to worry about her appearance at this point, but she decided to shower and change before letting Grissom see her.

After all, she was a woman, and he was a man, and there was an undeniable attraction at least from her end, and the fact that she was likely to be dead by this time next year didn't change that.

Fifteen minutes later she entered her own kitchen cautiously, silently, and she noticed Grissom before he noticed her. He was sitting down with a cup of coffee, staring into it absentmindedly, and she had the sad thought that the expression on his face was one she had seen on too many faces at too many crime scenes, when someone was missing and their loved ones knew the odds weren't good.

She walked further into the room, making her presence known, and Grissom looked up.

"You're awake."

"And you're still here."

"Now that we have that established…" Grissom smiled and sipped his coffee. "How do you feel?"

She ignored the question.

"You didn't have to spend the night," she told him, and smiled so he would know she appreciated it.

"You were half asleep in the car, nearly asleep by the time you hit the pillow… I wasn't sure if you should be alone and you weren't awake for me to ask, so I stayed."

Hiding another little content smile, Sara turned and poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove.

"You slept on my couch?" she inquired casually, turning back to face him and raising her mug to her lips. She was surprised at how comfortable it felt for the two of them to be here together, sharing morning coffee and conversation.

It was new and different, of course, but new and different had never felt so good.

"I... couldn't sleep. But I stayed on your couch, yes."

Grissom neglected to mention that he'd spent some of the night standing in her doorway watching her sleep and hating the world.

"You have some messages," he told her, gesturing to the machine.

"Weird," she mumbled, glancing at the blinking light, "Usually the phone wakes me."

"Well, you were tired." He paused. "And I turned down the volume," he admitted guiltily.

Not bothered in the least, she hit the 'play' button. Greg's voice filled the room.

"Hey, Sara, it's me, Greg. I'm a little freaked out here, you looked like you were gonna keel over last night. Just checking up on you. Give me a call."

Sara's smile disappeared, replaced by a look of dread that was becoming all too familiar to Grissom.

The machine beeped and moved on to play back the rest of the messages.

"Hey, Girl, Warrick here. What happened last night? Let me know how things are, and if you need a ride to work or something. I've got you covered. All right, later."

"Hey, Sara, it's Nick. Greg just called me wanting to know if I'd talked to you. He says you weren't doing so good last night, and you know, between that and the whole near-faint thing, maybe you should get checked out… Let me know if I can help. Or at least call poor Greggo and put the guy out of his misery. I'll see you at work. Bye."

"Sara, it's Catherine. I, uh… I hope things are… well, have you seen Grissom? Can't find him. Thought you might know. Guess I'll keep looking… So listen, feel better. And think about seeing a doctor, maybe. Nicky's worried about you." Her voice on the recording paused for a moment, then picked up abruptly. "Truth is I'm a little concerned myself."

"Sara? It's Greg! If you're there, pick up the phone. Nick says you fainted? And then after what happened last night, I mean, why wouldn't you tell me you fainted? Why aren't you seeing a doctor? Call me! I'll take you to a doctor if you want. I'd do that. I might make you do that. Call me, okay? Like, soon. Oh, and have you seen Grissom?"

"Hey, Greg again… just checking… and yeah, call me."

The machine finally finished, and Grissom gave Sara a pointed look.

"I know," she said, sighing. "I know… I know."

Sara sipped her coffee for a moment, thinking, then slammed the mug down harder than she'd meant to and picked up the phone determinedly.

"I'll meet them for breakfast in an hour."

"Give me that long to get home and get cleaned up," he told her, and he was halfway to her door before he turned back. "Can I pick you up here on the way?" he asked, his tone hopeful, and she gave it only a moment's thought before nodding resignedly.

A dizzy spell while behind the wheel of a car wouldn't be a good thing.

Grissom was gone without another word, and Sara gave herself only a moment to silently relish the joy of the taken-for-granted; he knew without asking where they were going, because the team had only one regular breakfast spot; he knew she would appreciate having him there for support when she shared the news, and he didn't make her say it out loud.

Maybe it was just that he was more comfortable with the 'doing' than the 'discussing' of these things, but for a man like Grissom it wasn't half bad.

Suddenly the phone began beeping in her hand, objecting to being held up off the receiver for so long. She dropped it into the cradle and picked it up again, then took a deep breath and hit the speed dial.

…

Greg arrived first, full of questions and looking more than a little bit worried. Catherine was next, and Nick and Warrick showed up at almost the same moment after her. They all followed more or less of the same pattern, first looking at Sara, then Grissom, then back at Sara again. They weren't sure what was going on, but it was clear that Grissom knew, and it was clear that the news wasn't good.

They were all seated around a familiar table, and four pairs of anxious eyes were on Sara along with Grissom's saddened ones.

Sara rolled some words around in her mind for a moment.

The ripping-off-a-band-aid approach won out.

"I have Hepatitis C." She forced herself to speak matter-of-factly. "It's likely in its advanced stages. I may also have liver cancer. And I probably need a transplant."

They all gaped at her. Shocked, horrified, silent, disbelieving.

Nick shook his head a little bit in silent protest, and Warrick dropped his chin into his hand.

Catherine looked from Sara to Grissom and back again, as worried for him as for her, but Grissom's expression was a mask of control.

Greg looked like he was going to cry or throw up, maybe both.

"Okay, but…" Greg stammered. "Probably isn't for sure, I mean… maybe you won't need it right?"

"It's a possibility, Greg, but… it's not too likely at this point, according to what my doctor has been telling me." Sara told him gently, the same way she would talk to a child whose parents were likely dead.

"But you've… you seemed fine, until, like…" Greg let his voice trail off, thinking back, and his lips trembled a bit as he fought back tears. "Transplants happen, transplants work…"

Catherine put her hand on Greg's shoulder and met his eyes. They both knew the statistics. They _all_ knew the statistics.

"Are you… _Can_ you keep working?" Nick asked, his tone tinged with hope, and Sara hesitated.

"I've already cut back my hours… I might not be able to keep going out into the field. But I'm not giving anything up until I have to."

"Good to know some things never change," Warrick said softly, but in the silence that followed the phrase seemed harsh rather than appreciative.

"Does Ecklie know about any of this?" Catherine wanted to know, looking unsettled at the thought.

"Nothing yet, and I want to keep it that way for a while," Sara answered. "He'd like nothing more than to send me home."

Yet another moment of silence followed, and Nick drew in an audible deep breath.

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I can keep a secret." He promised, and there was an assortment of agreeing nods from around the table. "And I think I speak for all of us when I say that we'll do whatever we can. Day or night. Hell, they're interchangeable for me these days anyway." He tried for a moment of levity with the last thought, but Sara could have sworn his voice was just a touch thicker than usual, his accent just a little bit more prominent, and there might have been just a hint of moisture in his eyes.

And damn if it didn't evoke the same reaction in her.

She sat there with them for as long as she could handle.

But she hated to cry in front of people.

Nick and Warrick were keeping it together, and Greg trying desperately to do the same, but she could see the struggle. Catherine of all people reached across the table to take her hand.

It was too much. She was waging a losing battle with her tears.

"I, uh… I have an appointment… I have to get to… so I'm going to go…" She stood up and looked down at all of them. "I'm sorry," she told them quietly, and Nick shook his head.

"I'm sorry, we're sorry," Nick nearly whispered, and Sara nodded and turned to head for the door.

Grissom stood to go after her.

"We drove together," he explained, and he started to get out his wallet and then realized they hadn't ordered anything.

He took a few steps toward the front of the restaurant, then changed his mind and turned back.

"We're all she has," he told them simply. "You should know that."

And then he left them there to console each other.

…

"You were pretty quiet through all of that," Sara told Grissom as they arrived back at her apartment.

"I already knew," he pointed out, but that didn't seem quite 'it' to her.

"You're the 'Grissom' kind of quiet," she explained as if it was the most natural, sensible comment in the world, and she let herself fall into a sitting position on her couch.

He followed her in and sat down next to her, on the other end of the couch, and she took a mental note of how easy it seemed for him to do that.

There was a comfort level there now that hadn't been there before, and it was so bittersweet she could have cried.

"I have my own brand of quiet?" he asked, slightly amused.

"The 'Grissom' look. Your inquisitive look. The kind of quiet you get when you're trying to figure out how a piece of evidence fits into the puzzle."

"You were tossing and turning last night," he told her suddenly, and then looked as surprised as she did that he'd said it.

"You watched me sleep?" She asked, and he was grateful that her tone was skeptical rather than upset.

"I think I watched you have a nightmare."

Sara started to point out that she had more than enough going on in her life to contribute to upsetting dreams, but she stopped before the words left her mouth.

There was a question in his eyes, and something holding him back, and she realized that he knew.

Of course he knew. He was Grissom. His need to know all surpassed her own.

And now here he was, looking for confirmation, as afraid to ask the question as she was to answer it.

"You want to know what happened. How I got the Hep C in the first place," she acknowledged quietly.

Can open. Worms everywhere.

No turning back now.

Grissom managed a little nod.

"I'd like to think it was through a blood transfusion," he said softly.

"But you don't."

He said nothing, revealed nothing.

For a moment she thought he was going to be sick.

"Mourning without empathy leads to madness," he quoted haltingly, and then for a few seconds he listened to her breathe.

"Donald Woods Winnicott." She gave the obligatory answer, then shook her head slightly, looking for a way out. "That, uh… he said that about loss…"

"Freud thought it had a lot to do with trauma."

She curled up just a little bit against the back of the couch.

And then she met his eyes.

"It's been a lot of years."

"Did they get him?"

Sara drew in a ragged breath that betrayed the calm she was fighting to keep.

She wasn't at all sure she wanted to do this. She wasn't at all sure she'd be able to look him in the eye again if she shared this with him.

But she'd come this far.

"I was eighteen."

Her voice caught, but her tense expression held strong.

"Crossing the parking lot. Behind the library."

Maybe she couldn't do this.

Maybe this should stay buried.

Maybe…

"I had pepper spray in my purse, but… I couldn't grab it… My first indication that anything was wrong… my body hitting the ground…" She sniffled, breathed audibly, let the tears fall. "I never even felt his hands shove me down, I just remember…" She licked her upper lip, licked the tears that had fallen there. "Just the ground rushing up at me."

She quieted for so long that anyone else would have said something to question her or encourage her.

But Grissom just waited.

"I felt everything he did after that, though."

Her face crumbled, and he sat watching it happen, feeling a prickling at the back of his own eyes, feeling sick, feeling helpless, wondering if any kind of physical comfort was appropriate right now.

He turned his body to face hers more completely, leaned forward, and reached out his hand along the back of the couch, as close to her face as he dared.

He wasn't sure how long it was before she collected herself and continued.

"You know they didn't have the same HIV protocols then… you know that… but, uh… there was this nurse, in the ER, when I finally made myself go get checked out, and… She went through the whole HIV spiel with me, because she'd… she'd known someone, I think she said… and I went back over and over again to get tested, like they recommended, you know, over time, just to be sure… And when that last test came back negative…" Emotion threatened to overcome her again. "It was like I won. They never caught the guy, but… Surviving, that was my victory. That's always been my victory…"

Grissom met her watery gaze and took a deep breath.

"Sara --"

"Guess he got the last laugh." She choked on the words, willing back her tears.

"You've spent the better part of your professional life getting victories for other survivors," he pointed out gently.

He had wanted to give her some sense of triumph to hold onto, but it was the word 'survivors' alone that cut through the layers of emotion and hit her hard.

Not other victims.

Other survivors.

"Survivors," she repeated, putting the word out there for consideration, looking over at him.

There was admiration and a healthy dose of empathy in his eyes rather than pity.

She was looking down trying to figure out how to thank him for that when his fingers brushed against her own, and she looked up at him.

There was a certain emotional exhaustion that seemed to take up space in the room with them, and she let the moment be what it was for several intense seconds.

Funny how knowing time was running out made people take time for things they didn't – or didn't know how to – before.

"You do well as the empathetic witness. Freud would be proud," she offered.

He all but scoffed at the idea.

"I'm lousy at this stuff. I've always been lousy at this stuff."

"You're not as bad as you think you are. You just… don't always say things out loud."

"I'm not sure you should count on that changing any time soon."

"Soon is all I've got." She said it matter-of-factly as always, and as always it _hurt_.

But she had a good point, and her voice wasn't trembling anymore, and so far getting closer to her hadn't brought the sky crashing down, so he moved over and wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer until she was nearly in his lap.

For a long while they sat there together, close enough to feel each other breathe, staring into the empty space in front of them.

It was cruel, this life that gave them what they needed to find what they had been missing, only because everything that mattered was about to be taken away.

_Thank you God. _

_Damn you, God._

_Please, dear God…_

…


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's note: I can't tell you how much I appreciate all the wonderful reviews. I came to a point where I had to decide to either give up on this story altogether because I just didn't have the time, or keep working away at it whenever I could. Your reviews kept me wanting to finish this. Now that we're heading into summer I have more time on my hands than I have in a long while, so if there's still interest in this, I'll continue soon. I hope the wait hasn't killed the interest in this story. _

_Also, I've done plenty of research, but I'm not a doctor (though I did speak to one recently about this story), and as such I apologize if anything from here on in is medically inaccurate._

_Any and all feedback is helpful and a joy. _

_One other thing – I'm relatively new to this place, and it never occurred to me to include a disclaimer before. Clearly, though, these characters and CSI do not belong to me. _

**Moments of Truth**

Chapter Four

There was an electrical hazard in the outlet on the north wall, locks on the filing cabinet behind the desk, a simple security system panel near the door, and not a single security guard in sight.

And none of it mattered.

Because this wasn't a crime scene.

It was a hospital waiting room.

Grissom sat alone and still, observing.

Partly because it was just who he was and what he did.

Partly because he was sitting there waiting for the sky to fall, and somehow the silence was loud, and he needed to fill his mind with something besides dread.

He cursed himself for being so knowledge-thirsty. Maybe if he didn't know so much, he'd be able to let himself believe that it was likely that the coming and going medical personnel would be able to save her.

He wished for the hundredth time that she had just let him come in to get the test results with her.

And then there she was, walking towards him, her eyes not quite focused, her jaw set in a line.

He stood, took a few steps, met her in the middle of the space between them.

His eyes never left her face.

Her eyes never landed on his.

He fumbled for the appropriate question.

"Is -- Did --"

"You mind getting the car?" Sara asked suddenly, pointedly. He heard the subtext loud and clear – _not here, not in this cold place_.

He nodded and took her gently by the arm, turning her toward the elevator.

They rode down in silence, and he sat her down by the main entrance and headed for the parking garage.

It took him about ten minutes to get there and back, and all the while one thought dominated all others – if the news was good, she would have met his eyes.

…

They said nothing on the drive between the hospital and her place.

In the quiet it seemed all he could hear was her uneven breathing; and by the time they arrived and he parked and turned to look at her, he wasn't feeling nearly as calm as he wanted her to think he was.

She was leaning back against the head rest, focusing on something – or nothing – out the window, the fingers of her right hand tracing the lock and unlock buttons absentmindedly.

"I waited too long." She spoke suddenly, her tone thoughtful, resigned. "I always wait too long."

"What did they tell you?"

She smiled a wry, rather bitter smile and turned to face him.

"The meek shall inherit the earth… something to that effect."

Grissom took a minute to absorb that, searching for the connection and failing to find it, wanting to help her but wanting to know her test results more.

"See, thing is," she continued, "The rest of us are just too damn stubborn to get help when we need it. The meek get a bad bruise, go to a doctor. The stubborn get a fatal disease…" Her voice caught here. "…figure they can sleep it away."

She was ready to break, and he could see that, but he couldn't focus on comforting her – his entire being was focused on getting answers.

"Sara… please… _specifically_… what did Dr. Reiser say?"

She drew in a deep breath, recited the facts.

"Hepatocellular carcinoma. Primary liver cancer. Directly connected to the Hepatitis C. In its advanced stages."

If she'd been looking at him rather than staring into the space in front of her, she'd have seen his expression darken, seen him stop breathing for just a few seconds.

Expecting the news hadn't lessened the blow.

But maybe there was still hope.

"Are they discussing chemotherapy?"

"Chemotherapy, radiation… Might buy me some time." Tears finally escaped her eyes. "Might not… So far my liver is still functioning at what he calls an 'acceptable level', which apparently means I don't have to be hospitalized. Yet. But, uh... liver failure... they tell me I'm heading full speed in that direction."

"Did they… As far as time, is there…" His voice caught, and he stopped talking and couldn't start again without breaking, couldn't even look at her.

"Can't be sure yet. Could be a year. If I'm that lucky. Could be a few months. Could be less."

A moment passed in silence.

"I've never been that lucky, Griss."

Her tone was matter-of-fact but strained, and he thought she might break down then, thought her quiet tears might give way to sobs.

Instead she swallowed hard and took more than a few deep breaths, and then gestured to the keys still hanging from the ignition.

"I want to go to work."

He looked over at her incredulously, even as he realized he wasn't really surprised.

"I'm not kidding," she added, just for good measure.

"Sara... exertion can expedite liver failure --"

"Then I'll have to be careful not to exert myself, won't I?"

He waited a beat before continuing.

"Sooner or later, the reality of this is going to hit you," he warned gently.

"Duly noted."

She turned back to the window, and it was clear to him that she was done arguing.

Reluctantly, he reached for the keys.

"No, Conrad, that's not the case here --"

"Not the case here? Tell me, Catherine, what does 'co-habiting' mean to you?"

"Look, let's say for a minute that Gil and Sara _do_ have a... close... relationship. That doesn't mean that he can't effectively supervise --"

"Oh, come on! Put yourself in their shoes! If you and I were --"

"Conrad I beg you not to finish that sentence!"

Grissom and Sara exchanged a surprised and uncomfortable glance, stopping cold in the corridor as the words traveled around the not-quite-closed door of Ecklie's office. Grissom pushed the door more fully open and took in the scene. Ecklie and Catherine were both standing, facing off over whatever it was that had happened, and Greg sat quietly in a chair, looking chastised.

"Would anyone care to enlighten me?" Grissom asked when they'd all turned and seen him, and Sara, by the door.

"Misunderstanding," Greg muttered, and Ecklie waved them in insistently. "He just overheard us," Greg continued, "talking… joking, actually… about you two, and… the words 'practically co-habiting' might have sort of… come up."

Grissom nodded, taking that in, then looked over at Sara. She looked how he felt; _almost_ amused. Any other day, this might be funny.

Ecklie sighed overdramatically and sat down at his desk, and Grissom knew whatever was _almost_ funny about the moment was about to die a quick death.

"I don't see how I have any other choice but to suspend you both until I can rearrange the teams," Ecklie told them, giving them a look that they all supposed passed for 'apologetic'. It was an attempt at the sentiment, anyway. Probably an empty one.

Catherine gave Sara and then Grissom a sympathetic glance, her face silently apologizing for her small part in this scene much more effectively than Ecklie's ever could. She was about to suggest to Greg that they make a quick exit, but stopped and stared when Sara stepped forward purposefully and fixed a steely gaze on Ecklie.

They'd all seen that look before. If Sara wasn't suspended now, she was likely about to be.

"The only reason Grissom has been sleeping at my place, on my _couch_, is because I'm sick. Dying, actually," she spat, more angrily than Ecklie deserved at the moment. Grissom and Greg both winced, but Sara continued unaffected, smiling a cold, empty smile. "And miracle of miracles, someone actually gives a damn. Grissom. Gives a damn. But see, you don't have to worry. No need to spend all those confusing hours rearranging your precious lab, Boss, because I won't be a problem for you for too much longer. See, just a little while ago I found out I'll most likely be dead this time next year. Maybe even within a few months. So all is well in your little world, Ecklie," she tossed at him resentfully, determined not to show the slightest hint of any emotion weaker than anger. "May the lab rest in peace."

Even Sara wasn't entirely sure what she was implying with that comment, but it felt right, and she turned on her heel and started for the door. The sudden turn brought on a wave of dizziness, but all three of her colleagues were right behind her, and by the time she made her way out into the hallway Grissom had taken her by the arm and she felt steadier.

When she met each other their eyes in turn, the looks she was getting from Grissom and Greg and Catherine made her a little bit sick. She hadn't been _that_ pitied in years, and she didn't want this now.

Sure, the fact was that she was dying. Unless she was very, very lucky, which she knew she wasn't.

She knew that. The rational part of her got it.

But like Grissom said, it hadn't hit her yet. And she couldn't handle this right now.

Greg abandoned all pretense of professionalism and wrapped her up in a tight hug right there in the middle of the hallway, and Catherine opened her mouth to say what would undoubtedly be something too caring and comforting for Sara's taste at the moment.

"I'm fine," Sara said as calmly as she could, cutting Catherine off before she could even start, and shrugging gently out of Greg's embrace. "I'm as fine as I'm gonna get. And there's, uh… It looks like this is all about to become common knowledge, and there's something I need to do."

She turned to Grissom when she said this, and looked at him almost remorsefully. He had to be sick of playing chauffeur for her by now.

"Should you be behind the wheel of a car right now?" Greg piped up, almost reading her thoughts. "I could give you a ride."

Sara nodded almost immediately, before anyone else could jump in.

"Thanks, Greg." She managed a tired little smile, thinking that maybe a ride with Greg would raise her spirits just a little bit. "I'm ready when you are."

"Your music or mine?" Greg asked, half serious, as they walked away together, and Grissom watched them go, not quite sure if he was annoyed to have been replaced even briefly, even as the guy driving her around because it was too dangerous for her to drive herself.

He felt Catherine's hand on his shoulder and turned to look over at her, and the sheer sadness in her eyes was nearly the thing that broke him.

He looked away, back at where Sara had disappeared around the corner, and pushed the desire to scream back down again.

"Sooner or later this is going to hit you."

He registered Catherine's gentle words, barely louder than a whisper, but didn't turn back to face her. Somewhere in the back of his mind it occurred to him that he'd been saying the same thing to Sara all day.

"When it does," Catherine continued, "I hope you remember you have someone to turn to."

She left it at that, and walked off toward ballistics, apparently able to shake it off and get her mind back on her case.

Must be nice.

Grissom wandered down the hallway, the way Sara and Greg had gone, not sure where exactly he was headed.

Ecklie peered out of his office door, watching two of his senior criminalists walk off in different directions, not really surprised that no one had bothered to inquire as to a final decision about the threatened suspension.

…

"Jim?" Sara knocked on his open office door, and he looked up sharply. "Uh…" she forced a smile. "Working hard or hardly working?"

Brass held up the sports section of the newspaper as a reply, and she managed a more genuine grin.

"Lunch break," he mumbled.

"Secret's safe with me. How did things go with that Hellyer kid earlier?"

"Well let me tell you, I'm a little bit more interested in what happened with that Sanders kid earlier."

"Greg?"

"Yeah, that one. We got a full confession out of Hellyer --"

"Congrats!"

"Yeah, thanks; not the point," he said simply, dismissing the praise. "So, we leave the interrogation room, and Sanders isn't flying quite as high as he should be, so I figure maybe he feels bad that you were the one who spearheaded this thing and you weren't here for the moment of glory. So I tell Sanders, I say to him, 'you know, let's call Sara, let's get some chicken wings'. And scout's honor, I thought he might cry. So you know…" Brass leaned forward, gestured to the chair across from him. "I'm not gonna grill you, but --"

"That's the only reason you're the last to know. Uh, about this." She sat down and looked over at him, a little apologetic, a little appreciative, a lot saddened. "If you'd grilled me when everyone else did you'd have found out a while back."

He gave her a curious and vaguely concerned look, waiting for her to tell him what exactly it was he would have found out. When she didn't, he sighed.

"Well, you know…" His tone was one of explanation. "I always try to leave my brilliant interrogator side at work."

"We're at work, Jim."

"You doing okay?" Unnerved by the tears he could barely see in her eyes, he'd cut straight to the point.

She returned the favor.

"I have cancer." She waited a beat, watched a shadow come over his face. "And Hepatitis C, actually," she added. "I guess when it rains it pours."

Brass leaned back against his chair, breathed a heavy sigh, thought for a moment.

"You gonna be able to kick this thing?"

"There's a tiny chance they can keep me going until a cadaveric liver becomes available."

He nodded slowly.

And then for a while he said nothing, but unlike with Grissom it didn't seem to be because he was actively trying to find the right words.

He just waited. And then started up again.

"Anything I can do to make today less hellish?"

"I don't know about today, but sometime soon I'll take you up on those chicken wings."

He nodded, then shot her a slightly apologetic look.

"I don't think I have advice for this one," he admitted. "Broken families and the bottom of a bottle… that's about all I've got covered."

"Thought that counts, Jim."

"Yeah, well…" Several moments passed in silence. "Okay, so listen…" he said suddenly, leaning forward again, a hint of something that wasn't quite sarcasm briefly entering his tone, "Sentimental fool that I am…" The tiniest bit of a smile curved his lips upward. "I've got to tell you this much… Sometimes you make me wonder if maybe I could figure out the dad thing if my kid was willing to give me a shot."

She smiled through the renewed threat of tears.

"Thanks for that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She sighed, looking thoughtful and rather broken. "I'm in that place you're supposed to reach when you're nearing ninety and looking back and thinking about the mark you left on the world. You've got me thinking maybe I touched a few people who weren't corpses or victims."

"Oh, you got a few cops and criminalists, too."

"Good to know."

She offered him a teary smile, and he nodded sadly as she stood up to leave.

She stopped by the door.

"Ellie's a fool, Jim."

The words hit him hard.

And then she was gone.

And his ugly world was that much darker.

…

When Greg dropped Sara off at home, Grissom was there.

She wasn't surprised, but she didn't have to admit it just yet.

"Thought you'd still be at work," she told him, sounding far too _normal_ for his liking as she slipped her shoes off.

He was sitting in the middle of her couch. Or was that his bed? Same difference these days.

He was so still it made her nervous.

"I, uh… changed my mind about work today," she told him. "I just talked to Brass… felt like coming back here. Actually, I felt like having a beer, but that would hardly help my liver now, would it?" She paused, avoiding his eyes as she wandered into the room. "I'm really starting to hate the word liver." She was starting to ramble and she knew it, but she couldn't quite stop herself. "Greg walked me to the door. Think he worries even more than you do."

She sat down next to him, and he finally looked over at her, turning his head so slowly it seemed unnatural.

"I can't do this, Sara."

Her breath caught in her throat, and a new kind of fear gripped her, and it was her turn to look away.

If there was anything she thought she could count on at this point, it was Grissom's ongoing support.

But she wouldn't force him, or guilt trip him. She wouldn't be _that_ person.

"You don't have to do anything." She phrased the words carefully. "I've told you all along, you don't have to keep watching over me. I'm a big girl."

When she glanced back his expression was confused and surprised and a little incredulous, like he couldn't quite believe she thought he'd leave, especially now.

"I can't keep acting like today isn't that different from yesterday," he clarified, and she hoped he couldn't see her little sigh of relief.

It was all she had to cling to, really; this hope that whatever time she had left would mean more to her, because of him, than any of the time that came before.

"I'm done pretending." He was firm.

"We always more or less knew," she pointed out.

"Suspected. You always suspected what the results would be. Hardly the same thing. Don't you even want to talk about it?"

She stifled a snort, cut short her strangled laugh.

"Coming from you that's --"

"I have questions." He was too serious, too tunnel-visioned, to let her laugh this off.

It pissed her off that he was going to make her confront this, and she stood up and distanced herself from him.

She didn't walk away, though. She wasn't going to be _that_ person, either.

"Is a living donor transplant any kind of option?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't have any family."

"What about your --"

"I don't have any family."

"Is there any chance a non-family --"

"No." She paused. "Not really."

"What if --"

"You think I didn't ask all these questions?" she nearly yelled.

"I think you wouldn't want anyone else to risk their life for yours."

"It's a non-issue."

He sighed, moved on to his next line of questioning.

"Did they give you any indication of when a… a long-term… hospital stay --"

"A permanent stay, you mean. That's what you're saying."

"I was --"

"You were whitewashing."

He stood up and approached her slowly, standing so close and looking so intense that it distracted her.

"Sara, we've got a matter of months --"

"So I've heard."

"You want to just keep going like this? Working, eating, sleeping?"

"You have a better idea, Griss?"

He kissed her.

Just like that.

It was gentle, and then it wasn't, and then it lingered, and then he looked at her.

And when he spoke his voice was thick with banished tears.

"Let me take you to dinner," he all but murmured, and she couldn't quite focus on his words when her mind was still shocked and in awe of the kiss. But she was pretty sure they were words she'd wanted to hear for years. "And maybe to the theatre. Not now, but sometime soon, let's just… we can just see what happens…"

She stared at him for a long moment, almost shaking from the sheer power of the day.

She finally knew things with her health were as bad as she'd feared.

She also finally knew that Grissom really was a fantastic kisser, and in a weird way it almost hit her harder than finding out she was likely dying.

For just a few seconds, it crossed her mind that for his sake, she should back off. For his sake, she shouldn't let him get closer. Not now.

But he was already too close, and they both knew it.

And she didn't want to be selfless tonight.

It was her turn. She kissed him, pouring all the emotion of the day – or maybe of the years – into the way her mouth played searchingly with his.

It was precious, and it was powerful, and maybe she didn't care if this killed her.

She knew before she did it that he would stop her, but with both hands on his back she pulled him closer, and a few seconds later she had his shirt untucked, and she wanted nothing more than to let her hands wander.

"Sara…" His face was nearly pressed against hers, and he breathed deeply. God, this was a challenge. "Honey, I don't think you should --"

"I'm sick of waiting too long," she whispered, and he wasn't sure if he detected a trace of tears in her eyes or not. Maybe he was just too close.

"Exertion…" he all but mumbled, and she shook her head in protest.

"I don't want to be sick tonight." Her eyes pleading, her voice breaking. "I don't want to be careful tonight."

She brushed her lips against his again, tentatively this time, just a hopeful little request.

"I just want to pretend," she finished.

It sounded like heaven to him too, right now.

Just to pretend.

Like the future wasn't real. Like there was only this moment. This little room. These warm bodies wanting more. Wanting everything.

He was done fighting.

He didn't say it out loud. Gently pulling her toward the bedroom spoke loud and clear.

They were both a little amazed, a little fascinated when they started touching each other.

It was slow and tender because it had to be.

After all the years they'd waited, it should have been different, maybe even reckless.

But maybe it was better this way, touching and teasing this carefully.

She had to stop him. More than once. Not because of pain, or weakness, or second thoughts.

Just to savor it. Just so it wouldn't end quite yet.

They both cried out when they finally finished, but they didn't speak after that.

He'd never had the words, and he certainly didn't have them now, and when rational thought returned to her, she was too lost in it to say any of it out loud.

They didn't need reassurances. Not of the verbal variety. There had been enough of that.

She stayed awake longer than he did, loving that he didn't seem to feel at all awkward about gently drifting off to sleep naked with her in her bed.

Maybe when you'd been terrified and devastated and overwhelmed and furious and destroyed inside all day, self-consciousness just didn't even register.

Or maybe they'd really come this far.

Maybe life was just a trade-off like this.

Months of this instead of fifty years of whatever it was they'd been doing before she'd gotten sick.

She mused silently to herself that it wasn't fair, and she cursed herself as tears filled her eyes yet again.

She wanted fifty years of _this_.

…


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's note: Thank you again for such wonderful reviews! I couldn't help but get right into this chapter after reading all of that. You made my week. _

_As always, clearly, these characters aren't mine._

_Feedback is a joy, and so very much appreciated. _

**Moments of Truth**

Chapter Five

It was an almost unconscious rebellion.

Sara didn't wear a watch anymore.

Time was the enemy now, almost more so than cancer or Hepatitis C.

There was no stopping it, no fighting it, no use in pleading with the heavens for _more_.

And the tiny little spinning second hand had been mocking her.

So she didn't wear a watch anymore.

It wasn't like she needed it. She'd been through her first round of chemotherapy and was officially off of work. The only appointments she had during these trying days were at the hospital, and she couldn't have lost track of those if she'd tried.

The closest she got to actually working was discussing recent cases over a meal with the rest of the team. Those times were also the closest she got to feeling normal, and for that reason she was looking forward to her evening tonight.

She stood in front of her dresser in her bedroom, well aware that Grissom was ready to go and waiting for her in the living room, and he had been for a while.

She was staring at her hairbrush.

It wasn't the first time she'd noticed far too much hair in her brush, on the floor, on her shirt. It had been happening for days.

It always threw her, and it wasn't about vanity.

It was about that horrible and now familiar feeling that she'd won the battle and lost the war.

"You can't tell."

Sara looked up sharply, startled, and saw Grissom behind her in the mirror's reflection.

"I know you feel like you're losing a lot of your hair, but it's not obvious to anyone but you."

Sara nodded numbly.

He was trying to be reassuring, and she knew that.

But appearance had so little to do with it.

"And you look very nice tonight," he added, and she offered him a small smile, their eyes meeting in the mirror.

"You do too," she told him, and she meant it, even though they weren't dressed up in the least.

Their 'night out' was pizza with the gang at Catherine's place. She was in blue jeans and a sweater, and he looked ready for work.

"Do you feel up to this?" Grissom questioned her gently, moving forward, standing against her now rather than just behind her.

"I do."

"No nausea?"

She shook her head in the negative, and then turned to face him with an uneasy smile.

"Ask me again this time tomorrow."

Both of their faces registered a look of mild dread.

Tomorrow.

Only a day away.

The beginning of a second round of chemotherapy; one that was expected to be much more severe than the first.

"But there's still tonight," Sara reminded him and herself, genuinely thankful for the fact.

"And the night is young," Grissom offered with a smile that became vaguely amused. "Unlike me."

Sara smiled and shook her head, finally replaced the hairbrush she was still gripping on top of her dresser, and headed for the door.

He was right behind her, and she grabbed his car keys off of the table nearest the door and tossed them to him.

He caught them, and a moment later they were in the car and on their way.

…

When Grissom knocked on Catherine's front door, he was hit by a brief and uncomfortable feeling of déjà vu.

He'd been here just days ago, and he'd been far more broken than he cared to remember.

The reality of Sara's situation had hit them both hard and fast and suddenly, just as predicted.

The peaceful joy of waking up in bed together, the third time it had happened, had been marred by pain. It effectively destroyed the pretending they'd been doing, and that broke her.

She'd twisted uncomfortably on the bed next to him, and wouldn't let him comfort her.

She'd sobbed soon after that, for the horrible truth rather than any physical pain, and she hadn't let him hold her then, either.

He'd waited with her, done what he could, and later spent a good two hours sitting on Catherine's living room couch, staring blindly at the television, occasionally feeling tears on his cheeks, grateful that Sara wasn't there to see it.

Greg was sprawled out on that couch now as Grissom and Sara came in, and a quick glance around told Grissom that they were the last to arrive. Nick and Warrick were leaning against the far wall, beers in hand, as Catherine led the way from the front door into the house.

"Look who finally decided to show up," Catherine said with mock annoyance, grabbing the portable phone off of an end table.

"About time," Warrick agreed, his tone matching Catherine's.

"Sit, relax," Catherine ordered, and Greg sat up and made room on the couch, and gestured for Sara to join him. She sat down rather slowly and gingerly, which wasn't lost on any of them.

"Okay, uh, I've got sodas, I've got mineral water…" Catherine paused, and looked over at Grissom specifically. "And I've got beer. What'll it be?"

"I'll take the water," Sara answered her, and Grissom just nodded in agreement.

"'Bout time we ordered that pizza, Cath," Nick said hopefully, and Catherine nodded, then looked at Sara uncertainly.

"I was thinking we'd get half a pizza just vegetarian, but if there's something that would be easier on your stomach --"

"S'fine," Sara told her quickly. "I'm fine. Veggie's good."

Catherine nodded and looked down at the phone in her hands, a little uncomfortable.

None of them were quite sure if Sara's health (or lack thereof) was a taboo subject tonight or not.

"So tell me about this likely-serial-ritual case," Sara said casually after a moment, effectively changing the subject, and everyone breathed a little bit easier.

"Our perp's a freak, I can tell you that," Warrick said, shaking his head and taking a long sip of his beer.

He and Nick launched into the tale of their bizarre serial killer, and Catherine went off to order the pizza, and Sara felt herself starting to relax.

It didn't occur to her that she might have been relaxing more than she'd intended to until the sound of a doorbell jerked her out of a lazy state of half-sleep. She looked around discreetly, wondering when exactly Greg had gotten up and Grissom had taken his place next to her.

"Pizza's here," Grissom said simply, and the look on his face was one of simple understanding, telling her without words that no one would blame her for dozing off.

Noting that the guys were now all busily tearing into pizza boxes in the kitchen area, Sara stood up and allowed herself to yawn and stretch.

"Remind me, where's Cath's bathroom?"

Grissom gestured down the hallway.

"Second on the left."

"Go get some pizza," she told him, by way of fending off the usual 'are you okay?' or its variation, and then she started down the hallway.

She didn't really need the washroom, but she took a moment to splash some water on her face and examine herself in the mirror. She was staring at her reflection willing some color to come to her cheeks when Lindsey's voice floated in through the air vents near the ceiling, from her attached bedroom.

"He's stupid! He's just a stupid, stupid, _stupid_ boy!"

Sara looked up at the vent, recognizing the tone immediately as one that said the poor kid _wanted_ to be angry, but feelings of hurt were winning out.

Been there, done that, she thought gloomily.

She wondered for a moment if she should suggest to Catherine that she check on Lindsey, but then Catherine's muffled voice reached her ears, and she realized she was already there.

She turned back to the mirror, trying not to pay much attention to the sounds of the broken-hearted thirteen-year-old sobbing.

When she left the bathroom she had to pass by Lindsey's room, and she couldn't help pausing for just a second, taking in the scene through the slightly open door.

Catherine held a crying Lindsey in a warm embrace on the bed, whispering something inaudible into her ear, rocking them both back and forth slightly.

And somehow, out of nowhere, Sara was struck with the thought that it was beautiful.

It caught her off guard when Catherine glanced up and their eyes met briefly, but Catherine only smiled softly and shook her head slightly in a way that said resignedly 'what can you do?'.

Sara shut the door for her and quickly returned to the kitchen.

…

By the time Catherine emerged from Lindsey's bedroom and joined the rest of the team, everyone was settled in with pizza and drinks.

Sara caught her gaze.

"She okay?" she asked, her tone conversational but sympathetic.

"What's up?" Warrick asked, before Catherine had a chance to answer.

Catherine shook her head with a sigh and grabbed a beer.

"School dance," she told them simply. "Kids can be idiots."

"You can say that again," Greg piped up, biting into his slice of pizza. "I didn't like teenagers even when I was one."

"She has a crush on some jackass, so apparently she takes after me," Catherine told them, smiling thinly and taking a sip of her beer. "She asked him to dance, he laughed in her face."

Sara winced visibly.

"She needs a big brother," she announced, and then thought better of it. "Or maybe not. Mine broke my crush's nose and did sixty hours community service for assault."

"You've got a brother?" Greg asked, clearly surprised.

Sara nodded and sipped from her bottle of water.

"Haven't seen him in a lot of years, though," she explained. "I couldn't even tell you where he is these days."

She shrugged, hoping they'd drop it. Thankfully Nick picked up the discussion with a story about playing hero for one of his own sisters.

Wrapped up in chatting with her friends and eating what was likely the last meal she'd have on a relatively settled stomach for a while, Sara didn't pay much attention to the expression on Grissom's face.

But if she had, she might have seen the wheels in his head turning.

…

Somewhere along the line the talk turned from teen years and siblings to criminology and their not-so-esteemed 'leader'.

It was around the time a slightly inebriated Greg shouted out "I once told Ecklie to go to hell!" that Sara finally turned to face Grissom, wondering at his long period of silence.

The others all looked at Greg incredulously, and Nick finally tossed out a dismissive "Liar!" and took a swig of his beer, leading Greg to mumble "Maybe it wasn't out loud…" into his own bottle.

Grissom broke out of his trance, unaware of Sara's intent gaze, and smiled.

"I once told Ecklie his focus on advancing his career was just sad."

He glanced from the others to Sara, expecting an approving smile, and found her looking playfully competitive instead.

"I once told Ecklie the lab is only his because you don't kiss ass.".

There was a brief moment of surprised silence, followed by quiet chuckling.

"Guess we have a winner," Warrick mumbled.

"You 'da man, Sara," Nick slurred, leading them all to wonder if perhaps he was a little bit more drunk than anyone had thought.

Sara looked over at him, and her smile quickly faded as their eyes met and a distinct sadness came over his face, in spite of the effects of the alcohol.

Things wrapped up quickly after that.

Sara had a difficult day tomorrow, after all, and though none of them spoke of it, they all knew.

The only noticeable difference between how this night ended and how a similar night would have ended weeks ago was that Sara received four quick but heartfelt hugs before she left the house.

As she and Grissom made they way down the driveway to his car, he suddenly grabbed for her hand and stopped her cold.

"What?" she asked quickly, and he smiled a tired but amused smile. "What?" she asked again, completely confused.

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to nearly a whisper.

"I once told Ecklie I needed you."

He left it at that and strolled down to the car, leaving her standing there speechless for a moment.

When she sat down heavily in the passenger seat seconds later, they both kept their eyes on the road in front of them.

"Guess you win," she told him teasingly, though not without emotion.

"Guess I do."

Content for the moment, they drove off.

…

The feelings of contentment died almost as soon as they got back to her place.

The night was almost over, after all. There was nothing left to do but wait for the dreaded morning.

He'd taken both this night and the next one off, despite her insistence that he didn't need to.

She moved into her bedroom wordlessly, and he locked the outside door and followed her. She pulled off her shoes and let herself fall on her bed, and after a moment he sat down on what had become his side.

"Are you thinking about tomorrow?"

"Thinking about Catherine," she answered truthfully, automatically, and then clarified when his eyes narrowed. "And Lindsey. The whole mother-daughter thing."

"And your mother is…?" Grissom asked, but she only shook her head.

"Not what I was getting at," Sara said. "I'm just thinking… you know I never, ever felt like I was in a place where I wanted to have kids," she mused contemplatively. "I mean, if I'd ever found myself pregnant at any point in the last however many years, I would have been…" She searched for the right word. "Panicked. Initially, at least."

"Well, it's not as if you and…?" Grissom waited, hoping she couldn't hear the conspiratorial note in his tone.

"Hmmm?"

"Your brother?"

"Josh," she filled in, oblivious to the fact that he mentally grabbed the word and clung to it.

"Well, it's not as if you and Josh had a happy childhood home," he pointed out, hoping she'd open up and give him some details about this Josh. "It's natural that you would be wary."

She nodded, more in acknowledgement than agreement, lost in her own thoughts.

"I think after a while I'd be torn, though. Freaked out, but… torn. 'Cause, I mean, you're right, I never had a great role model… no reason to believe I could do the mom thing well… science is what I get, family is… it's where I fail miserably…" She stopped, took a few deep breaths to control herself. She hadn't cried today, and didn't want to start now. "But you know on the flip side," she started up again, "Maybe… maybe there's something about the idea of building the family you never had… that's… that's just kind of… precious…"

She was in her own world now. She might as well have been talking to herself, her gaze fixed on the ceiling above her head.

"Maybe… maybe it's just the whole grass-is-always-greener thing… that people don't know what they've got 'til it's gone… But I was watching them tonight, just for a second, Catherine and Lindsey, I mean… and maybe it's just that I have a history of wanting what I can't have, or at least when I can't have it, but…"

She stopped before she let her voice break. There had been too much of that lately.

But she didn't trust herself to speak, and so she left the rest unsaid.

Watching her, Grissom resigned himself to the fact that it wasn't the time to question her, about her brother or mother or anyone else. He already knew from what she'd said to Nick that she likely had at least one living relative, whether he was in her life or not.

That was more than he'd had yesterday, and the tiniest ray of hope had worked its way into his heart already.

He suggested to Sara that she get into bed and get some sleep, and as she did so he went out into her living room, pulled out her laptop and got to work.

He spent a half hour or so researching living donor liver transplants. By the end of that time he had taken careful note of the most significant facts; the ones he would use to convince Sara – to _beg_ Sara, if necessary.

The risk to the life of the person donating a portion of his or her own liver was estimated at 1 or less.

Barring any complications, the donor's liver would regenerate to full size and capability within a few weeks.

Blood type and blood vessel variations in the liver itself were most likely to be compatible between close relatives.

Like siblings.

Grissom shut the laptop with a satisfactory _click_, and his mind raced.

It was possible.

There were a lot of hurdles, but it was possible.

To hell with the 15 000-strong cadaveric liver waiting list.

To hell with Sara's reservations, too.

Whatever issues kept her from looking for her brother were secondary to her health – her very _life_.

Grissom stood up on shaky legs and glanced through the slightly open bedroom door. Seeing Sara fast asleep in bed, he turned and walked back into the other room, grabbing his cell phone and hitting a speed dial button as he went.

"Yeah, Brass, it's Grissom," he said quickly, trying to keep his voice quiet. "I need a favor… off the record. I need you to see what you can find on a Joshua Sidle, he's Sara's brother… Every database you've got… Yeah, me too. And Jim? This is between you and me for now."

Grissom hung up without saying goodbye.

He stood silently in the middle of Sara's living room for a long moment, reeling.

_Maybe…_

He wandered into her room, watched her sleep, marveled at the fact that he actually had a particular side of her bed designated for him now.

_Maybe, maybe… _

He lay down next to her.

Tomorrow was likely going to be a kind of living hell for her.

So was the day after that.

And the day after that.

But _maybe, maybe, maybe… _

There just might be a light at the end of this horrendous tunnel.

And that meant a lot.

That was everything.

…


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's note: As always, I so appreciated all the reviews. Glad to see some new reviewers! _

_Bluejolteon – There are a few details about what Sara is going through with the treatment process in this chapter, but for the most part I'm focused on what happens after the sessions at the hospital rather than those visits themselves. I hope you enjoy this chapter, though! Thanks for reviewing! _

_Thanks to everyone for reviewing, in fact! You guys keep me writing, and it's such a joy. _

_Now, on to the story… _

**Moments of Truth**

Chapter Six

Sara hadn't answered the phone.

And so Grissom was rushing home from work nearly an hour before the end of shift.

It was a bit silly, perhaps. She was sick as a dog and quite possibly fast asleep in bed. She might have turned down the ringer. Hell, maybe _he_ had turned down the ringer himself and been too bone-tired to remember it.

But she hadn't answered, and she was alone, and she shouldn't have been alone.

Not right now.

She needed help, no matter how much she insisted that she didn't.

It was Grissom's first day back at work since he'd taken two days off to be with her while she dealt with the initial days of her second round of chemotherapy.

_I should have taken more than two days._ The thought repeated itself over and over again as he arrived and parked and made his way quickly to her door.

He was feeling a little bit panicked, but not so much so that it didn't occur to him to be quiet in case she was sleeping.

A quick glance around the main living area told him that it was empty.

Her bed was empty, too. Ruffled, slept-in, but empty.

He pushed open the bathroom door and saw no sign of her.

And there was nowhere else to look.

Would she have gone out on her own? Even if she'd been feeling somewhat better today, she didn't have the strength for that, and they both knew it.

And he'd just left everyone who might have taken her somewhere at the lab.

Standing in the little area between her bedroom and bathroom, Grissom's breath came as raggedly as if he'd just run up a few flights of stairs. His right hand moved toward the cell phone attached to his belt.

He wasn't sure who he was calling or what he would say, but he quickly punched in one of the speed dial codes.

"It's Grissom," he said shortly into the phone, forgoing all formalities. "Have you seen or heard from Sara? … Yes, Greg, I do think she should be here resting! I --"

Grissom paused sharply when a quiet sound reached his ears. Where had that come from? He let his cell phone fall to his side and listened intently.

"Griss?"

Forgetting Greg entirely, Grissom turned off his phone and stepped into the bathroom, following the sound of her worn out voice.

"Sara?"

He found her lying in a heap in the empty bathtub, in her bathrobe, partially hidden by the sides of the tub and the shower curtain, which he pulled back now.

Her eyes were closed, her body lying face down, her legs bent behind her because the tub wouldn't allow them to stretch out, her face pressed against the smooth surface.

Grissom nearly cursed out loud.

"Are you dizzy? Did you fall?" He knelt down and reached out for her, to help her up, but her brow crinkled disapprovingly and she shook her head.

"No," she murmured. "It's cool… feels good. And close," she added, and it was clear to him she was speaking of the proximity of the toilet.

"Honey, you'd be more comfortable in bed."

"Don't wanna move," she mumbled, and Grissom relented, even though there was something that felt rather inhumane about letting her rest in a cold, hard bathtub.

He sat down on the edge of the tub and leaned down to touch her, to rub his hand over her back and her shoulders, in an attempt to comfort her that did more to make him feel better than it did for her.

She was getting far too thin, he thought to himself.

"Have you tried to eat anything today?" His question was met with a little shake of her head, and he made a mental note to talk to her about that later. "Can I at least get you a pillow?" he asked after a moment, but she only shook her head stubbornly, and her eyes never opened.

He sat still and silent for several seconds, and then was a bit startled when she suddenly started speaking to him unprovoked.

"Go," she said quietly, turning her head and opening her eyes to look at him. "Go get some work done or something."

"I don't think so," he told her, slowly shaking his head just to be clear.

"I just want to lie here for a while," she insisted. "I actually feel better than I did before I got in here."

"Sara…"

"Didn't you bring work home with you?"

Grissom nodded after a moment. He _had_ brought work home with him. Several different case files, in fact. They were all sitting outside in the passenger seat of his car.

She looked him over, moving her eyes but not her head, as he sat perched on the edge of her tub.

"You don't look very comfortable," she told him.

"Neither do you," he pointed out meaningfully, but she didn't react.

"You should get some work done," she said again, turning her face back toward the cool surface of the tub, apparently done discussing it.

Grissom wasn't sure why he was being dismissed. If it was a matter of pride, she was a little bit late. He'd seen her at her worst over the past two days.

He stood up but didn't leave the room, didn't stop watching her.

"I got bored earlier, called Greg," Sara said suddenly, and since she made no attempt to turn her head toward him her words were slightly muffled. "I asked about work. He said you've got… some rare bug thing going. Billingsley. Said that was the name of the case. So I know you've probably got some entomology textbook to dig into." She paused, and though her eyes opened she didn't turn them toward him. "And I don't want to be the thing keeping you from that."

"It can wait," he said immediately.

"It doesn't have to. I'm fine here for a while. Go. Work. You can leave the door open."

Grissom hesitated, but decided he was satisfied with that. Thinking that he should call Greg to apologize for his earlier abrupt hang-up, Grissom took a step toward the door.

He stopped in the doorway.

He had to say something, to give her even just a phrase to cling to right now, and it took him a moment to settle on what exactly it was that she needed to hear.

"When you're feeling better, I want your input on this case." He told her, and paused briefly before continuing. "I need you."

He went out into the living room then, leaving Sara alone with her thoughts and the illness that seemed to share the room with her.

She didn't want to hold Grissom back. No matter how easy it would be to justify selfishness right now, she wasn't going to be that person.

Even so, being alone and quiet gave her too much time to think.

The memory of watching what basically amounted to a kind of poison drip through the IV tubes and into her body was strangely traumatic. Her doctor had given her a lecture that was far too glass-half-full for her taste, reminding her that the chemo was meant to destroy cancer cells, not healthy cells, and that she had to think positively about that.

Thinking positively wasn't something she was particularly interested in at this point.

Her body ached with the kind of extreme fatigue that made moving almost painful, her stomach had been upset on and off for three days, the sensations in her fingers seemed to alternate between numbness and tingling, and the discomfort in her upper right abdomen reminded her that somewhere under the symptoms of the treatment lied the symptoms of the disease.

And her hair was still falling out.

Her goddamn hair was still falling out, even now.

…

Grissom had gone out to the car to get his books and files, but they sat on the couch untouched.

He was busily looking through all the books and personal items in her living room for any sign of information on her family, and more specifically her brother.

He felt guilty about snooping, but he didn't hesitate.

He hit pay dirt when he came across an old photo album.

He scanned one page, and then another.

The book didn't seem to be organized chronologically, which was strange given Sara's usual precise habits. He wondered if she hadn't acquired her organizational skills until she became a criminalist, and had left the book as it had been.

He had no trouble picking her out in the various pictures. In one she looked about five, in the next maybe seven, and perhaps three in the one after that. Sometimes the bright-eyed (if troubled) childhood version of Sara was sitting with a miserable-looking woman who he could only guess was her mother, and once in a blue moon she stood or sat with a mustached giant of a man who must have been her father.

But it was the boy in the pictures that mattered to Grissom now. He knew from Brass that the boy had grown into a man who had run into trouble with the law too many times to count, but he seemed innocent enough in these pictures.

He guessed that this Josh was about six or seven years older than Sara, and they seemed fond enough of each other, as much as they could in the still images.

There he was standing behind her in front of a sad looking Christmas tree, and then there they were, grinning away in one of few pictures in which she looked truly happy, smiling at something she probably wouldn't even remember now.

The book wasn't anywhere near full, which was a sad enough fact about her childhood in and of itself.

But he ignored that thought when it came to him. It wasn't important now.

He performed a quick and efficient search, seeking out what looked like the most recent picture of Joshua Sidle. He was just a wiry young teenager in the picture, but it was a clear shot of his face, and it would have to do.

A moment later he was on the phone with Nick, making plans to meet him briefly sometime soon to discuss "a very important case".

Seconds after he hung up he heard the distinct and cringe-worthy sound of vomiting coming from the bathroom, and he quickly tucked the photo album back where it had been and went to check on Sara.

…

It wasn't until the following day that Grissom finally got around to digging into his textbooks and working on a case file, but when he did he found himself getting lost in the work in a way he hadn't been able to for some time now.

Perhaps that was part of the reason why he was startled when Sara came walking out of her bedroom.

The other part of the reason was that she was dressed. She was in sweats, and wearing no makeup, but dressed nonetheless.

"You're feeling better?" He asked with a hopeful smile, and she gave him a little nod.

"Better than I was, yeah. And Catherine is coming over."

"Catherine?" Grissom's face betrayed the surprise that he tried to keep out of his tone, and Sara nodded and moved a book so that she could sit down next to him on the couch.

"I need to talk to her about a few things."

"That's… vague."

"Not as vague as you've been about this case," she told him, purposefully changing the subject, and he looked down at the books scattered around him.

He opened his mouth to launch into the detailed story of the gruesome murder case, but caught himself before he got started. It occurred to him that if Catherine was going to be here, it just might be the perfect time to take off and speak to Nick without leaving Sara alone any more than necessary.

"I'll have to tell you about it later," he said apologetically, standing up. "This is actually good timing, because I have somewhere to be."

"You're going out?" she asked, surprised but pleased, since she had been hoping to speak to Catherine alone and wasn't sure how to handle that with Grissom nearby.

He nodded and then looked at her for a moment, getting the distinct feeling that he wasn't the only one being carefully cryptic.

He brushed it off and grabbed his cell phone and his keys, and then picked up a particular file that he'd been careful not to let Sara get her hands on in the past few days.

It wasn't labeled, but he would have known which folder it was even if all the others around it had also been unlabelled. He'd come to know every crease and ripple.

"I have to meet Nick, about a case," he explained, not entirely inaccurately, and he gave her a gentle goodbye hug. "I won't be long."

"Take your time," she replied, and as he headed out, he got the unsettling feeling that she really meant it.

…

As Catherine approached Sara's place, she had the thought that she had only been here three times in over five years.

Twice she'd come by to pick up files Sara had been studying from home, and once she'd dropped Sara off after they'd gone out for beers, after discovering that what's-his-name had been cheating on her.

She'd never really been inside, and she had no idea what she was doing here today.

Catherine knocked, and several seconds later Sara opened the door.

She looked like hell, but Catherine smiled politely.

"You look good," she offered warmly, but Sara laughed a short laugh.

"If you say so." Sara held the door open wider, and when Catherine had stepped through she let it swing shut.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"No thanks." Catherine shook her head, in the process of looking around and taking the place in. "It's cozy," she commented, and Sara took a seat and gestured for Catherine to do the same.

A few awkward seconds passed.

"Can I be blunt?" Catherine asked.

"Have I ever stopped you before?" Sara teased, and Catherine didn't argue with that.

"Sara, why am I here?"

Sara considered making a joke, but decided against it.

"I've been making some plans," she started, looking at Catherine very seriously. "I'm going to sign a DNR."

DNR.

Do Not Resuscitate.

Surprise registered on Catherine's face. She began to look vaguely horrified, but to her credit she forced an understanding nod.

"Isn't it early days to be thinking about that?" Catherine asked carefully, and Sara nodded.

"I want to get things in order now. When I'm still thinking clearly." She left a beat. "When no one can try to tell me I'm not thinking clearly."

Realization dawned in Catherine's eyes.

"You think Grissom will fight it?"

"_That_ is why you're here," Sara clarified. "I could get witnesses from a law firm, or do it in front of my doctors… and I might do that, too… but I want to do this in front of someone I trust, and more importantly in front of someone that Grissom trusts. Someone he won't be able to fight on this."

"And that's where I come in," Catherine said unnecessarily. She felt uneasy about the whole idea. This was _big_. "You're absolutely sure you want to do this?"

"It's not akin to suicide, Cath," Sara insisted, not without emotion. "The facts are already there. Keeping my body going in a hospital bed that should be given to someone who has a real chance to survive…"

Sara left it at that. Catherine nodded haltingly after a moment, and Sara took it as agreement and got up and went into the bedroom. She came back seconds later with what looked like legal forms.

They said nothing as Sara set the papers down in front of them on the coffee table with shaking hands that betrayed her facade of calm.

Sara found a pen and sat down next to Catherine on the couch, and they exchanged a look full of the enormity of what signing these papers meant.

Sara turned her gaze to the forms in front of her.

She didn't need to read them yet again, nor did she need to think it through any more than she already had.

She forced herself to reach out and sign her name, and then drew in a slow breath as she pushed the pages toward Catherine and pointed out the place for a witness signature.

Catherine looked the page over for a moment, stalling, then quickly signed her name.

"Grissom might hate me for that," she said lightly, if for no other reason than to break the silence.

"I know the feeling," Sara told her, and Catherine gave her a skeptical look that said that neither of them really believed for a second that he could hate her.

Sara was trying to find a polite way to tell Catherine she could go now when Catherine suddenly spoke up.

"Three years ago," Catherine began quietly, "During the summer… I found a lump in my breast."

Their eyes met, but Sara only waited for Catherine to go on.

"I had a biopsy, had to wait a few days for the results… kept working, took out the stress on everyone else… especially you," she added with a little smile. "And I didn't tell anyone for most of those few days. I just figured I was strong and I didn't need anyone else and that I didn't even have to think about it if I tried hard enough." Catherine paused again, a thoughtful look on her face. "I was scared," she admitted, her tone matter-of-fact. "And eventually I went to Jackie. I broke down. Rambled for the longest time, probably incoherently, and I don't even remember half of what I said. Jackie just let me talk, let me cry." Catherine waited for Sara to meet her eyes. "I'm not going to be so… so insulting… as to pretend that any of this means that I have any idea what you're going through right now. But I'm just saying… well, I guess I'm saying that if you need a 'Jackie', I'm available."

Sara took all of this in for a moment, surprised that it wasn't really awkward or strange for the two of them to talk like this. They'd never said this much to each other before outside of work and work-related meetings, and God only knew they'd had their differences.

And yet here they sat, and the truth was that Sara _did_ need 'a Jackie'.

And she found herself doing something she never thought she'd do.

"I was raped when I was eighteen." She said it simply, not wanting to give more than she had to. "That's how this all happened, how I got the Hepatitis C."

Sara looked over at Catherine briefly, but quickly turned her eyes away when she saw that Catherine looked sickened, and like she might _actually cry_ for her.

That was too much, and so she continued what became a little monologue with her gaze locked on the far wall.

"Grissom knows. I told him not long after all of this started. We haven't really talked about it since. And I think that's mostly my choice. But it's… it's partly for him. I can't seem to forget the look on his face when I told him, and so I don't really want to bring it up again. For my sake, too, you know, I'd like to just leave it in the past. But the thing is…" She took in a deep breath. "Thing is that I'm losing my hair now. Because of the chemo. And every time Grissom notices me noticing, he says I look fine, good, no different at all. And I always just kind of nod, like that helps, but the truth is it doesn't really have much to do with how I look. It's just that…" She sniffled back tears. "That night, when I was eighteen, he pulled me into the bushes by my hair… He pulled out so much of my hair… and now it's like here we are… all these years later, and… he's just… he's still pulling my hair out."

Sara finally turned to meet Catherine's eyes again, and found them nearly as watery as her own.

"He's still pulling my hair out, Cath," Sara told her brokenly.

And there was nothing left for Catherine to do but reach for her hand and let her cry.

…

Grissom wasted no time with pleasantries when Nick slid into the booth across from him in the diner.

"Here," he told him simply, and thrust the folder into his hands. "Sara's brother. Joshua Sidle. I've got name, age, 'cause Brass just came through with a birth certificate, but there's no death certificate, thank God, and there's an old picture, most recent one I can find, and you've also got his rap sheet there."

Grissom blurted this out somewhat less than coherently.

Nick looked confused and a little overwhelmed as he opened the file and glanced through it.

"Guy's got a rap sheet as long as my arm," he noted casually, and Grissom nodded.

"That might be what kept his criminalist sister at a distance, no?"

"Could be," Nick agreed.

"But it's mostly petty stuff. Con jobs, fraud charges… the guy isn't a murderer."

"Not on record," Nick pointed out, but Grissom ignored the comment.

His eyes were on the prize, such as it was. Saving Sara's life was a precious, precious goal.

"He could be a living donor. This is about her life, Nicky."

"Well yeah, agreed, but what do you really know about her family history?"

"Look," Grissom said, getting a little bit frustrated, "I suspect her reluctance to find him right now might just be as simple as her not wanting to risk anyone else's life to save her own. Especially the life of her older brother."

Nick nodded, but didn't look entirely convinced. He looked down at the file for a moment, then up at Grissom.

"Why come to me?"

"Warrick's... attached, to that girl of his. Catherine has Lindsey. Greg is too emotional over this thing." Grissom rattled off the points, and then added seriously, "And I trust you."

Satisfied with that, Nick nodded.

"Okay."

"I need you to go to New York, look him up at his last known address, ask around… do whatever you have to do to find him." Grissom paused for a moment, and Nick nodded. "But don't make contact," Grissom added. "Except maybe to confirm who he is. But don't tell him about Sara, not without talking to me first, at least."

"Okay. When do I do this?"

"Now, preferably. If you can get home and get a bag packed I can have you on the next flight. I'll put the ticket on my credit card and reimburse you for anything else."

Nick thought it over for a moment, then nodded.

"Okay."

They both stood up, and said nothing as they exited the diner and went out toward the parking lot.

"Hey Griss?" Nick called, and Grissom stopped and looked up on his way to his car.

"Yes?"

"Feels good to at least have something to do about all this, huh?"

Grissom nodded and got into his car.

It sure as hell did.

…

It took only sixteen hours.

Sara was sleeping.

Grissom was wrapped up in researching the details of a case.

The phone ring, and he dove for it, only to keep it from waking Sara.

Nick's words rang inside his head.

"I found him."

…


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's note: Please forgive the long note here, but I've got a few things to respond to and a few things to say, for those of you who want to take the time to read a few thoughts off the top. _

_A few specific responses:_

_Veronica10 – Thanks for the suggestion about including organ donation info. UNOS is apparently a great organization, but since this site doesn't seem to want to allow me to add a link, all I can say is Google it if you want to learn more. _

_To those who feel the story is just too depressing – I'm sorry, but it won't suddenly become a fluff fic. That's just not what I'm doing here. Please note, however, that that does not necessarily mean that it can't potentially have a happy ending._

_anneruhland - thanks so much for sharing your personal story. I'm glad you felt I did the issue justice. _

_Elialys - Thanks for the long, thoughtful reviews! And I have to add, I find it kind of funny that you said you'd 'rather love some geek-babies' since when I decided to write a CSI fic, I told myself I'd pick something that's been done many times but, in my opinion, rarely done well, and attempt to write it entirely in character if it killed me. And it came down to either Sara-gets-sick or Sara-gets-pregnant. You've kind of got me tempted to write the other one now._

_About Josh - we're just barely getting to know him a little bit here, so please keep an open mind at least until you've read the next chapter. We see him mostly through Nick's eyes at this point, and he doesn't know him (yet). _

_I've struggled a bit with how much or how little to use the Josh character, since I tend to hate original characters in fics, but I think he's really necessary here and can eventually add a lot to the story. _

_Anyway, thanks again for all the fantastic reviews. CSI fans are particularly thoughtful in reviews, it seems to me, and I love that. _

_As always, these characters are not mine, and I would so appreciate any and all reviews and feedback. _

**Moments of Truth**

Chapter Seven

It was fucking cold.

And Nick didn't even _own_ a pair of gloves, let alone have them with him now.

The fall winds blew so strongly that candy wrappers and grocery bags and other litter fluttered around by his feet.

His eyes hurt. He hadn't slept for more than a few hours at a time in four days.

He hadn't had a real meal in four days, either. Unless, of course, you considered hot dogs and pretzels from street vendors a meal.

If it had been the type of neighborhood where people gave a damn, someone probably would have already called the police to report him as a stalker.

But Nick never considered for even a second that he might have to give up.

Sara needed him.

Grissom was counting on him.

And the piercing _need_ not to disappoint had been hardwired into Nick Stokes from the time he was a toddler spilling milk on his rigid father's good clothes.

And this wasn't about spilled milk. This was a world away from spilled milk.

"_I'm trusting you, Nicky"_, Grissom had said, unknowingly uttering a phrase that Nick both cherished and dreaded.

And it echoed in his head now.

He'd give it a few more days, hold out as long as he could, and then actively start searching for this Joshua Sidle if he hadn't returned.

He'd only caught a glimpse of him before, and he only had an old photograph to work with. He wouldn't even be sure he had the right guy if he hadn't questioned a surly neighbor for confirmation on the man's name, and he'd told Grissom as much.

It had been a rather intense phone call. Grissom hadn't been thrilled to hear that Nick lost track of his subject in the subway system. He hadn't yelled, hadn't had any particularly cutting words for him, but the quiet sigh had been punishment enough.

Grissom had moved on in the conversation quickly, wanting details, and Nick didn't have much to give him.

Blue jeans, longish hair, looked healthy enough from a distance, wasn't limping or slow or anything… Nick had told him what little he knew of Sara's brother, added wearily that he'd been carrying a duffel bag, and then listened as Grissom sighed again and put it all in his eternally desperate-to-please hands. _"I can't leave her right now. You do whatever you have to do. Trust your instincts, go into it slowly, don't tell him too much too soon, feel him out first. Just do what you have to do to get him back here, and then I'll take it from there. And keep calling, keep in touch. I'm trusting you, Nicky_."

There had been the abrupt 'click' of a hang up then, and Nick could still here it.

He stood up off the cold ground now, and stretched his sore limbs.

He sighed heavily.

Grissom was trusting him.

Sara could die.

No pressure, or anything.

…

For the first time in almost a week, Grissom was walking around the crime lab wide awake and feeling relatively rested.

Better than that, he was feeling rather hopeful.

Sara was finally feeling a little bit better than she had been in the early days of her second round of chemotherapy, and they'd both slept well all day.

He'd left her at her place eating a bowl of soup for 'breakfast', and made it to work for his shift early rather than late.

Catherine had been picking up a lot of the slack lately, and Ecklie had, miraculously, had the decency to let them work out a kind of combined supervising effort on their own.

In addition to all of that, Nick had a line on a man who just might be able to give them their miracle.

Things were looking up.

Arriving at ballistics, he walked briskly into the room and up to Bobby Dawson.

"Got your page," Grissom acknowledged. "Did you finish with the bullets from the camp site?"

"I did. And not a single match to the nine millimeter from the trash can." Bobby offered a vaguely apologetic shrug, and Grissom nodded.

"It's actually what I expected," Grissom told him distractedly, thinking over the details of the case. "Thanks," he added quietly, absentmindedly, turning to leave.

"Hey, I'm glad Sara's doing better," Bobby called out, and when Grissom turned back he found the other man wearing a friendly smile.

"So am I," Grissom returned, and then gave him a curious look. "I didn't think anyone had been by to see her since I left. Who told you she's doing better?"

"Sara herself," Bobby answered, fiddling with his microscope.

"You called her?" Grissom asked, clearly surprised.

"Saw her," Bobby corrected, unaware of the concern washing over Grissom's face. "She's working in the break room."

Without a word, Grissom turned on his heel and took off down the hall.

…

"No."

Grissom spoke slowly and firmly, and accompanied the word with a shake of his head.

Sara was sitting at the table in the break room, piles of papers and folders spread out around her. She was wearing makeup for the first time in days, even if only enough to disguise the pallor of her skin.

She looked up at him now, ready for a fight.

"This is the first day in almost a week that my stomach hasn't rebelled," she told him calmly, clearly prepared for this. "I've spent a lot of days staring at those same four walls. And I'm not going to let that be all I have left if I can help it."

That got to him, turning the stubborn, adamant look of disapproval on his face into something sad and hesitant, and so she continued.

"I know I can't even think about going into the field or handing evidence right now," she told him gently, her tone now one of careful understanding. "And I'm fine with that. But going over cold cases with fresh eyes, being here at work, it's not going to hurt me. And it's something, at least it's _something_ worth doing."

Grissom stood silently for a moment, apparently thinking, and then sat down at the table across from her.

"I don't like it," he told her after a moment.

"I know."

"Ecklie will probably have a fit."

"It'll be more entertainment than I've had in weeks."

He cracked a reluctant smile at that, and she knew she'd won the battle.

"You don't leave this room," he told her sternly.

"I promise," she agreed. "And thank you."

She spoke softly, almost apologetically, sorry because she knew this would keep him worried and distracted tonight, and grateful because she knew he still had the authority here in the lab to tell her 'no' right now, if he wanted to.

"I have to track down Warrick about the camp site murder case," Grissom told her as he stood up, effectively turning the mood in the little room to something closer to professional.

"Hey, where's Nick?" Sara asked curiously, and Grissom literally froze halfway to the door.

"He's, uh, he's out of town. Working a big case," Grissom told her, barely turning back to face her. "I'll tell you about it sometime soon. I promise."

With that he was gone, and Sara picked up a file for only a moment before putting it down and getting up to get a drink out of the fridge.

She was damn thirsty today.

…

Nick's 'big case' was finally breaking.

He had been fighting sleep five minutes ago, but now, following Joshua Sidle into his apartment building and down a dimly lit corridor, he might as well have just downed a pot or two of Sara's extra-strong coffee, and then stuck his finger in an electrical socket just for good measure.

This was it.

He had to play this right.

He'd watch and see which apartment the guy went into, and then take a few minutes to finalize what he was going to say, and then knock on the door.

That was the plan.

But when the man reached his door, he turned and fixed a suspicious gaze on Nick.

Josh Sidle looked the other man over for a minute, from the other end of the hall.

And something bright and relaxed gave way to something hard and worn out in his eyes.

He'd had four good days.

But now it was back to this, wasn't it?

He slowly made his way down the hall, keeping his eyes on the stranger all along.

He figured him for a cop or a bookie, but he looked damn nervous for either of those.

He looked like he might get sick, and yet… he didn't look _scared_, exactly.

Just nervous, intense, maybe a little hopeful. Who the hell was this guy?

Nick was watching Josh, too, taking him in up close for the first time.

He looked like the kind of man who had gotten his muscle from life rather than the gym, dressed in blue jeans and what looked like an ancient denim jacket, a plain grey t-shirt underneath. His hair was lighter than Sara's, and hanging in his eyes. He looked to be in his early forties, looked older around the eyes, looked like he hadn't shaved in a day or two, looked tired.

And still, somehow, there was something a bit boyish about him, something rather young.

It might have been the practiced look on his face, the challenging-but-slightly-amused expression he wore as he stood there, letting the other man make the first move because he knew it would unnerve him.

"Are you Joshua Sidle?" It was all Nick could come up with at the moment, but he felt good about the firm tone of his voice.

"You first, Cowboy," the guy returned, putting him on edge with expert ease. "Or should I be calling you 'Detective'?"

"I'm not a cop," Nick said immediately, and then wondered if that was the right move.

"You don't say."

Josh said nothing further, and Nick settled on a half-truth, needing to somehow get the ball back into his own court.

"I'm not a cop but I work with them, and I need to ask you a few questions," Nick told him, carefully confident as he gestured to the door the other man had approached before. "I'd like to do this some place less public."

Nick watched his reaction, noting that behind the pretense of control the guy was beginning to look confused by him.

But Josh only nodded almost imperceptibly after a moment.

"Suit yourself," he tossed out, and turned to go back down the hallway and open the door.

When they were inside, Nick took a second to look around, noting that the place was small and sparsely decorated, if decorated was even the word. An old table near the tiny kitchen area, a couch, a TV on a small table. That was about it.

He turned to look at Josh just as the man dropped his duffel bag by the door, and what looked like a few little square pieces of paper fell from his large jacket pocket.

Before Josh could snatch them up Nick noticed that they were Polaroid pictures, but of what, he couldn't tell.

Josh stacked the photos and placed them face down on top of the refrigerator, and then walked the few steps back over to Nick.

"I'd offer you coffee or tea, but I'm fresh out."

The words were spoken with a bit of a scowl, and more than a bit of sarcasm, and Nick took a deep breath, ready to forge ahead.

"Where you been for four days?" Nick asked, trying to fall into the familiar routine of the interrogation room.

"Albany." The answer was quick and direct. And deliberately brief.

"Why?"

"Had somebody to see."

"Where do you work, Josh?" Nick asked, using his name intentionally, trying to take some control of the conversation.

"I'm between jobs right now."

"Fair enough."

Nick paused then, for a long moment, thinking.

A typical opening line of questioning was pointless.

Grissom had said to take it slow, feel him out.

But the only thing that mattered was his history with Sara.

"When's the last time you saw your sister, Josh?"

It was a sudden shift, and Nick felt a little jolt of something like triumph when the other man's practiced look of indifference faltered briefly.

"Something happen to her?" Josh asked, and it might have been wishful thinking, but Nick could have sworn he saw a distinct concern in his eyes.

Nick let him sweat for a minute without answering.

"That why you're here?" Josh asked, ratcheting up the tension a notch with a slightly more demanding tone.

"You could say that," Nick told him, and then paused again.

"She alive?"

"For now, she is."

"Fucking cop mind games." Sara's brother almost spit the quietly muttered words, and he looked just anxious enough that Nick took pity on him – and let himself feel a bit more hopeful than he'd dared to before.

"I told you, I'm not a cop. I'm here as Sara's friend. I'm a criminalist. I work with her."

He paused again, sent up a silent prayer that he was playing this right, then continued.

"She needs you."

…

The break room at the CSI division of the Las Vegas Police Department out on North Trop Boulevard was generally a place for small groups of employees to kill time while awaiting test results.

A certain graveyard shift team had been known to use the place as a lounge more than anything else, coming together for snacks and brainstorming sessions as often as they turned in reports or pulled on pairs of latex gloves.

Occasionally it was used as a kind of extra office.

But in almost all circumstances, it was a place for groups to gather and _stay for a while_.

Not so, tonight.

Sara sat surrounded by case files as before, but she had trouble concentrating thanks to the steady stream of people coming and going.

She didn't mind. For a considerably less-than-outgoing person such as herself, it was a pleasant surprise to realize that so many people wanted to come by to see her as word spread that she was in the building.

Bobby and Ronnie and Hodges and David and Dr. Robbins and Jackie and Wendy had all been by once or twice, long enough to say 'hi' and that she'd been missed and wish her well before going back to work.

She looked up now and then to find Grissom just standing in the doorway, checking in on her.

Greg came by every twenty minutes or so with a joke, or a question he supposedly needed answered, or a simple "Hey, how's it goin'?" He seemed to be purely _enjoying_ having her nearby, which was touching.

Warrick dropped in a few times, sat down as casually as ever, talked over the cases she was looking at with her.

Catherine wouldn't admit that Sara was the reason she was in and out of the break room tonight, but she'd gotten seven drinks out of the fridge in the space of about two hours, and each time had stopped to chat.

It felt good.

As much as Sara had needed to get out and do something useful, she'd needed _this_ from the people in her life even more.

If she hadn't been feeling slightly light-headed and so damn thirsty, it would have been easily the best night she'd had in a long while.

She was getting up to get another bottle of water when Greg came bouncing in yet again.

"So I turned into a tourist yesterday," he told her with a grin, grabbing the chair next to her, and she sat down with her water and returned his smile.

"This'll be good," she said in a 'I know you well' tone, and Greg's grin grew.

"Toured a few of the newer hotels. I'd never actually been in Mandalay Bay before, believe it or not."

"You don't say."

"I do," he told her, pleased by the mildly amused tone of her voice.

"So why now?"

"Met a girl," he told her, raising his eyebrows for effect, and Sara cracked a smile.

"How nice for you."

"A tourist girl," Greg clarified, and Sara nodded, seeing where this was going.

"So, let me guess, you decided to be the nice, dependable local Vegas expert who could give her the grand tour?"

"Precisely."

"At a hotel you've never been to before?"

"Well she didn't have to know that."

Greg smiled again, enjoying the pointless chatter.

"We did some gambling. Higher stakes than I've ever tried before."

"Which was?"

"Dollar slots."

They both laughed, briefly, at what amounted to a walk on the wild side for Greg Sanders, and then he quieted and gave her a meaningful look.

"I guess I just decided I wanted to believe in the odds of beating the odds."

Sara looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded her head once, in acknowledgement of what he was trying to say.

But then she had to lighten the mood again, because tonight was going too well to get lost in the ever-present misery.

Catherine breezed into the room and headed for the fridge just as Sara spoke.

"The odds of beating the odds. You do realize that that makes no sense at all?"

"You still expect Greggo to make sense?" Catherine teased, and then rubbed Greg's shoulder affectionately as she walked by him to toss the empty can of her last soda in the garbage.

Both Catherine and Greg looked at Sara then, expecting a joke or at least a smile in response.

But they found her looking suddenly afraid and alarmed.

"Sara?" Greg called her name, and though she turned her head in his direction, she seemed to be looking right through him.

"Sara?" It was Catherine calling her now, Catherine with a gentle hand on her arm.

Sara dropped the open water bottle in her hand to the floor and gripped the arms of her chair as if they might somehow help her.

"I think something's wrong," Sara told them quietly, and she managed to grab Greg's shoulder, looking unsteady. "I think something's wrong."

…

Josh scoffed at Nick's words.

"Sara needs me like she needs a hole in the head." His tone was sad, bitter.

"Maybe before," Nick responded immediately. "Not anymore."

"What's so special about now?"

Nick swallowed hard, and he abandoned his careful mask of control as a hint of desperation came over his face.

"She's sick, Man." He paused, begged Sara's brother with his eyes. "She's real sick."

…

"Greg, get Grissom."

Catherine's voice was calm, but laced with urgency.

Greg took off out of the room, and Catherine took his chair next to Sara.

"Sara, tell me what's happening," Catherine prompted.

"I'm…" Sara seemed to lose the thought half way through it, and Catherine grabbed at her arm again.

"Sara?"

"Dizzy," Sara finished, and Catherine nodded. "I need water," Sara added, and Catherine was up and over to the fridge immediately, the half-spilled bottle of water on the floor now forgotten.

Catherine had just closed her hand around a full bottle in the fridge when she heard a sound that was something like a cross between coughing and vomiting.

Her head snapped around to look at Sara.

The first thing she noticed was the absolute panic in Sara's eyes.

A split second later, she saw the trail of blood spilling from her mouth.

…

Josh's eyes narrowed, considering.

This criminalist guy looked altogether too broken up about this to be messing with him.

"What's she sick with?"

"Hepatitis C, and liver cancer."

Josh took that in, and nodded a little nod after a moment.

Hepatitis C meant nothing to him, but 'cancer' he got.

"What does she want?" Josh asked after a minute, looking genuinely confused. "What does she need me for?"

Nick just stared at him for a moment.

He couldn't answer that. Not yet.

It was too much, too soon, just like Grissom said.

"She needs to see you. She could be dying, Man. I need you to come back to Vegas with me."

It was Josh's turn to just stare, and Nick couldn't tell if he was thrown or afraid or reluctant or devastated or all or none of the above.

Maybe he was just lost in the past.

"What do you want? You want me to beg?" Nick asked after too many long seconds had passed in silence, and Josh looked up, but his face was still unreadable. "Look, all I'm saying is come back with me… see her, talk to her… I've got your plane ticket covered and you already admitted you don't have a job to worry about." Nick paused for a second. "_Please_."

The emotion in Nick's tone sparked a different kind of glance from Josh.

"You in love with her or something?"

Nick shook his head slowly.

"No, Man, I'm not in love with her. It's not that I'm in love with her. Funny thing is, your little sister, she's something like a sister to me too."

…

Grissom got to Sara from the doorway before Catherine could make it back to her from the fridge.

Sara tried to reach for him, her eyes clinging to his face, and she nearly slipped right out of her chair.

He caught her, held her, lowered them to the floor, took in the sight of the blood on her chin.

And it was so fucking bad.

And he wanted to scream.

Because this could only be evidence of one of the complications her doctors had spoken about.

And she was supposed to be _one of the lucky ones_, dammit!

…

Nick waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And even though he didn't know just how urgent things had just gotten back home, it killed him to watch the man who was Sara's hope incarnate wander around thinking his options through.

Josh finally turned, after what felt like an hour but was probably closer to five minutes, and shrugged.

And his expression was a practiced one again.

Practiced coldness.

"I guess I've got nothing better to do tomorrow."

Nick breathed out a long, relieved breath, and met Josh's eyes.

"What's wrong with tonight?"

…

"You're okay," Grissom murmured, the hand of the arm that wasn't wrapped around Sara instead pressed against her face. "You're okay," he said again, trying to calm the stark fear in her eyes.

But she wasn't okay.

And they both knew it.

Because this was what the doctors had warned them about.

Somewhere behind them Catherine was telling someone to call an ambulance.

Warrick's voice was around, so maybe it was him making the call.

Someone was standing so close that knees were bumping into Grissom's back.

So maybe Greg was here, too.

It didn't matter.

Nothing else mattered as Sara coughed again and Grissom used his sleeve to dab at the blood that spilled down her chin, and felt his throat constrict as her wide-eyed panic multiplied and she gripped his wrist in her hand.

"You're okay," he told her one more time.

But she didn't believe him.

Because they'd been warned about this.

And she'd never been one of the lucky ones.

…


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's note – I apologize for the delay in updating, especially given how I ended the previous chapter, and especially because there were a few people who I had told this would likely be up sooner. As seems to happen more often than I'd like, real life got in the way. _

_The response to the last chapter was absolutely wonderful! So encouraging and so very much appreciated, just as any feedback from here on in will be treasured. _

_Thank you again. As always, these characters are not mine, and I hope you enjoy the story from here on in. _

**Moments of Truth**

Chapter Eight

The ambulance hummed along down the street.

Grissom watched every change in Sara's facial expression, every movement of her body, every breath she drew into her lungs.

He caught every wince, noted with concern the little sounds that escaped her lips.

They weren't quite moans of pain, but rather sighs of exertion, as though the mere act of breathing was an effort for her failing body.

Neither of them spoke as they made their way closer and closer to the hospital, but they both knew what was likely happening.

It was called esophageal bleeding, and was a common complication of liver disease.

Vomiting blood, paleness, light-headedness, excessive thirst… all were symptoms that they had been cautioned to keep an eye out for.

It could be treated.

Grissom was almost certain that he remembered reading that it _could be_ treated.

He also thought he remembered reading that the prognosis was poor, and that the need for a transplant became imminent.

He suspected Sara remembered the same thing, because the fear in her eyes had given way to a blend of grief and dread.

"This isn't over," he told her, forcing confidence into his voice.

They hit what must have been a pot hole then, and the ambulance jerked slightly, and Sara winced, and Grissom bit back a curse.

"Sara, this isn't the end of anything, Honey."

He was about to do something he hadn't planned on, and tell her that her brother might be coming to town before long, and that he might be able to save her.

But suddenly they were there, and the paramedics were rushing her into the ER and barking facts about her age and illness and condition.

And so Joshua Sidle was forgotten, just for the moment.

…

There is a unique kinship that exists only between siblings.

For most siblings it boils down to shared memories and the joy of the inside joke.

For Josh and Sara Sidle, the understanding that existed between them had less to do with inside jokes, and more to do with shared trauma.

One could assume that that kind of bond would be the strongest of the strong.

And it had been, for a while.

No one, not even other kids whose fathers beat their mothers, could understand quite what it was like to be locked in _their_ bedrooms, in _that_ house, listening to _their _Mommy scream.

But after Mommy killed Daddy, the trauma was no longer shared.

Sara had been home.

Josh hadn't.

And no one, not even his little sister, could understand what it was like for a teenage boy to leave the sister he was supposed to protect alone in a volatile house, only to return hours later and find his father dead, his mother gone, and the sister he'd abandoned shattered.

She had never blamed him, which made exactly one of the two of them who hadn't.

The memory of that night was something that lived in the back of his mind.

Tonight, as he stared through a window out into blackness, from his cramped seat in the coach section of a buzzing airplane, on his way to the city where she lived and could be dying, the memory was much closer to the surface.

"Sir?"

Josh looked up, jerked out of his daze by the too-happy flight attendant and her snack cart.

Some days he would have had a snide comment to brush her off. Other days he might have tried to flirt with her.

Tonight he just shook his head, and Nick did the same from the seat next to him, and the woman moved on, rattling her cart along the aisle loudly enough to rattle their already unsettled nerves right along with it.

Josh glanced at the man who was apparently his sister's friend, and then his eyes fell to the worn file folder in his lap.

He looked up and found Nick looking back at him.

"The life and times of Joshua Sidle, I presume?" Josh asked, his tone lined with a hint of amusement.

Nick nodded once, and kept his head down, not sure if he should feel bad about an invasion of privacy or not.

"One of our guys put it together," Nick said after a moment, for lack of anything else to say.

"Doesn't make much of a bedtime story, does it?" Josh spoke with a kind of resigned familiarity with his own history, though his voice still wasn't without a slightly sarcastic quality.

It seemed then that Josh was waiting for something, and after a moment Nick handed the file over to him.

He waited several seconds while Josh leafed through the contents. Josh paused briefly at the old photograph of himself as a teenager, which wasn't lost on Nick.

"How'd we do?" Nick queried, again more because he didn't have anything else to say than because he really wanted to know.

"Hits the high points."

It occurred to Nick that 'low points' would have been a more accurate description, but he kept the thought to himself.

They were both silent for a few minutes, and Nick had begun to get lost in his own thoughts when suddenly Josh spoke without being prompted.

"My sister," Josh began, sounding a little bit hesitant, and he paused for a moment, watching as he picked at the frayed edge of the end of his denim sleeve. "She still stubborn as a mule with something to prove?"

Nick cracked an automatic smile at the description of Sara, and then studied the other man before he answered, encouraged by the fact that he'd bothered to express any kind of curiosity at all.

"That stubborn and then some," Nick finally answered him, and noted that the smallest of smiles crossed Josh's lips. "She been like that since she was a kid?"

"Long as I can remember." Josh leaned back in his seat, seemed to be thinking for a moment. "When she was maybe ten… she got it in her head that she was going to mow the lawn. We didn't have much of one, but our mom had been on our dad about it…" He went back to picking at the hanging threads of denim, paused again. "So Sara gets out there, and she was damn little to be starting any kind of mower, but this one was broken more often than not anyway. So she's yanking away at the thing over and over and over again… for maybe a half hour. Finally she goes next door, borrows their little weed trimmer, does the whole lawn that way. Happy as a clam about it, too."

"Sounds about right."

"Can't quite see cancer taking her down."

The both fell silent again at that, Josh staring out the window while Nick found himself again stuck in an internal struggle, not sure whether to tell Josh the whole truth or not.

"Tell me something, when's the last time you saw Sara?" Nick asked, hoping the answer might help guide him in one direction or another.

"Maybe ten years, give or take." Josh left a beat here before continuing. "She staged an intervention or two. Took off when they didn't take."

Nick's brow creased as he took that in.

"Didn't we just agree that Sara is the last person to give up?"

"Didn't give her much of a choice."

There was something hard creeping back into Josh's voice at that, and Nick backed off.

A short bout of turbulence shook the plane briefly, and the irritating tone of the seatbelt sign re-lighting sounded.

In the quiet that followed, Nick heard Josh take a deep breath.

"Sara in the hospital?" His tone was carefully even, and both men kept their eyes locked on the space in front of them.

"No."

"She got someone taking care of her? She ever get married?"

"Only to her work. She's got someone, though. Grissom."

"Boyfriend?"

"Something like that."

"It serious?"

"I'd say so." It felt strange to Nick, to have to categorize Sara and Grissom's relationship. "He's actually the one who sent me here after you."

_Shit_.

Nick realized immediately that he'd said more than he'd meant to, and he closed his eyes for a second, cursing on the inside.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Josh's head turn to face him, and he waited, staring at the seat in front of him, for the inevitable question.

"It wasn't Sara that sent you?"

The words carried a vague note of accusation.

It was Nick's turn to take a deep breath, and he met the other man's eyes.

Time for the whole truth.

At least there was nowhere to run.

"Sara thinks I'm working a case. She has no idea."

"It didn't occur to you to mention that _before_ we got on a damn airplane!" Josh asked harshly.

"It's like we were saying, Man, your sister's stubborn. But it's like I told you, she needs you."

"And like I told you, that girl needs me like a hole in the head."

"She needs your liver!"

Nick said the words almost without thinking.

And then he watched, feeling faintly and perhaps unfoundedly panicked, as understanding slowly dawned in Sara's brother's eyes.

…

Greg sat alone in one of too many emergency room waiting areas.

In the hospital where Sara was likely about to die.

The world wasn't his playground anymore.

It was dark.

And twisted.

And _wrong_.

And _it hurt_.

That change had started a long time ago.

He couldn't blame it all on the fact that some cruel fate was about to steal one of his best friends.

Becoming a CSI had brought with it a tough dose of reality, and he'd had some hard knocks in his teen years, as well.

But he couldn't remember ever feeling quite _this_ cold before – the kind of damp, clammy cold that comes from the inside out.

His chair was plastic, and uncomfortable, and unaccountably bright orange. His eyes were itchy like only recently dried eyes could be. The remains of a shredded Styrofoam coffee cup were strewn about his lap.

Somewhere behind a distant curtain Sara was in bad shape.

It was all too real, too harsh, too cold.

And it sucked.

Catherine and Warrick were supposed to be on their way. Waiting for them, Greg felt no need to put up a façade of strength.

But it was Grissom who approached him, looking rather dazed, and Greg sat up straight and forced a calming breath into his lungs.

"Hey."

Grissom didn't respond.

He lowered himself into the chair next to Greg without a word, and sat perfectly still, feet on the floor, hands in his lap, eyes less than focused.

It occurred to Greg that for the first time in all the years that he'd known Grissom, he looked something like a tired old man.

"How's she doing?" Greg tried.

"The on-call doctor is trying to stop the bleeding." Grissom never turned to look at Greg as he spoke.

"Bleeding?" Greg's eyes narrowed in confusion. "I know she was coughing up blood, but --"

"Esophageal bleeding." Grissom absentmindedly fielded the question as a teacher. "Liver disease puts pressure on the portal vein. The veins in the area balloon, sometimes the vessels rupture."

"But they can stop that, right?"

"In the short term, hopefully."

"How short term?"

Grissom said nothing for several seconds, and when he spoke again, it wasn't to answer Greg's question.

"Nick's not answering his cell phone." He spoke quietly, more to himself than to Greg.

And because Greg didn't know what Nick's absence meant, he only nodded.

"We'll call him later. When we have news. Good news, maybe. Hopefully."

"They won't let me stay with her right now."

Grissom looked up then and met Greg's eyes.

He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again.

There was something like shame written all over his face.

"What?" Greg prompted.

"I felt resentment." Grissom spoke as if he wasn't quite comfortable with the words, almost as if he was questioning that he could really mean that.

And he turned his eyes back to the wall across from them.

"Towards Sara?" Greg sounded surprised.

"It was always fleeting, and I always felt guilty about it after the fact," Grissom assured him. "But I missed simplicity." He took a moment to collect his thoughts. "We spent a lot of hours in that apartment. And some days she was sicker than others. Some days she was bitter. And it was hard." He left a beat. "And once or twice, I missed simplicity."

"Okay, but…" Greg licked his lips, settling on how to word the question. "That's okay, because… I mean, on the whole… it's not like you're wishing you hadn't gotten together with her, right?"

Grissom rubbed his eyes, leaned back against his seat.

His eyes flitted almost unconsciously in the direction of the cubicle where Sara was.

"Simplicity is overrated."

…

It was much later that Sara was finally put in a private room.

Grissom had never actually seen her in a hospital bed before.

It was hard to believe, given how long she'd been sick and how sick she was, but it was the truth.

He'd seen her hooked up to an IV in a kind of hospital recliner in the chemotherapy clinic, and he'd seen her walk into and out of a number of examining rooms at one appointment or another.

But seeing her white as a sheet and weak as an infant in an honest-to-goodness hospital bed was something new.

It felt _wrong_.

These rooms and beds were meant for nameless victims of violent crime.

Sara was supposed to be the one standing at the foot of the bed, taking notes.

At least the bleeding had been stopped.

The doctor had actually called her "one of the lucky ones".

But the need for a transplant was urgent now.

And there was nothing lucky about that.

Presently she was sleeping, and he was grateful for that, because she couldn't try to talk.

They had inserted a tube into her nose, down her throat and into her stomach, and inflated it to put pressure on her bleeding veins. And though it hadn't actually been said, it seemed to him that her throat must be feeling quite raw.

He heard a door open behind him and turned his head, wondering whether Greg could be back from the cafeteria already.

It was Catherine, wearing an expression so solemn that if he hadn't known how bad things were, the look on her face would have given it away.

Her eyes were on Sara as she approached, but she reached out and put a gentle hand on Grissom's back.

"I ran into Greg," she told him softly, and he nodded and turned his eyes back to Sara's still form in the bed.

That explained Catherine's look, then.

She knew the medical facts.

But she didn't know everything.

And he'd been waiting for a chance to go try to call Nick again.

Nick would answer, and tell him that he'd found Josh, and Josh had agreed.

That was all that was left to cling to now.

"Will you sit with her until Greg gets back from the cafeteria?" Grissom asked, and Catherine looked at him in surprise for a moment, but nodded.

"You're not staying here?"

"I have a phone call to make."

"You know you can't use your cell phone here in -"

"I know," he told her distractedly, getting up.

He'd been reminded by enough nurses in the last few hours about the rules surrounding cell phones in hospitals.

"I'll be here," Catherine assured him.

"Don't let her talk much," Grissom ordered her, and then he quickly left.

The room was decidedly eerier without him in it. Just a sleeping Sara and a few rustling and beeping machines, monitoring her fading body.

Catherine remained standing, avoiding the chair Grissom had vacated.

She wasn't sure how long it had been when Sara's eyes opened.

Sara looked around, but only her eyes moved.

"Hi," Catherine said, her tone brighter than the situation warranted. She moved closer until she was right next to the bed, until she was sure Sara saw her. "Grissom just went to make a phone call."

"Can -"

"He also said you shouldn't be doing too much talking," Catherine said quickly, cutting off Sara's hoarse voice. "But if you need me to get a doctor or -"

"No." Sara shook her head ever-so-slightly from side to side, and locked eyes with Catherine. "I need your brutal honesty."

Catherine swallowed hard.

She knew exactly what Sara wanted to know.

And it was a hell of a thing to have to say.

"Without a transplant? Days." She paused, wondering if that was enough. But she knew if their roles were reversed, she'd want to know everything. And so she reached out her hand, placed just her fingertips on Sara's wrist, and added: "They say it could be more like hours. They're not sure yet."

Sara had seen the news coming.

But it didn't stop the tears that sprang to her eyes.

"Thanks," she whispered.

Catherine felt tears prickle the back of her own eyes as she watched Sara's tears begin to escape onto her cheeks. She wondered vaguely when she'd started to care this much. She told herself that she was only human after all, and that Grissom loved Sara, and that that was reason enough to want to go ahead and break down and cry.

But the truth was that a lot of shared meals and laughs and triumphs and failures while working side by side had a lot to do with why her eyes were filled to the brim.

And she might have gone ahead and said so if Greg hadn't appeared at that moment.

She left him with Sara, and went to find Grissom.

And somewhere in the back of her mind she told herself - _promised_ herself - that she would say a thing or two – an _important_ thing or two – to Sara.

Before it was too late.

…

Catherine found Grissom at a nurse's station down the hall.

He was still at the phone there, bent over the desk, dialing and then listening intently, and so she waited without saying a word.

She became curious and confused as he slammed down the phone and picked it up again, and punched in a number with an angry finger, and then listened for several seconds before repeating the whole process again.

"Grissom -" Catherine stopped short when he spun to face her.

He looked _desperate_.

"Nick's not answering his cell phone." Grissom said almost angrily, as if that should mean the world to them both right now, and Catherine just shook her head slightly, puzzled.

"We'll keep trying."

Grissom nodded and turned back to the phone, and though Catherine had meant later, she let him go ahead and try again.

But he didn't just try once more.

He tried over and over again, until she was beginning to question his current state of mind, and not quite sure she wanted to be the person who had to try to stop him.

"Gil -"

"Just a minute!" he told her irritably, and he jabbed at the numbers on the phone again, and she reached out and covered them with the palm of her hand.

Grissom turned wild eyes on her, and she gave him a look that was utterly lost and yet desperate to comfort.

"He's supposed to answer his cell phone! I told him over and over again to stay in touch! To keep me informed and stay available!"

"Maybe he's in a hospital too, Gil." She didn't understand why it mattered to him so much right now, but she was willing to talk it through. "Maybe he can't turn his phone on, maybe he's taking a statement from a victim. Is it ringing?"

"No!" Grissom answered immediately, and then his eyes lit up with a kind of appreciation. "It's that 'customer not available' message."

"So maybe -"

"He could be on a plane." Grissom took in a deep breath, letting the thought sink in. "Why else would he turn his cell phone off right now? He could be on a plane!"

Catherine nodded agreeably.

If for some reason that was what Grissom wanted to think right now, fine.

She was trying to come up with an appropriate question to ask when Warrick arrived with coffee for them both.

She took hers, offering Warrick a grateful but subdued smile.

Grissom only waved him off, and started walking purposefully back toward Sara's room.

Catherine and Warrick followed.

And a strange thing happened, just before they reached Sara's door.

Nick rounded the corner and came into view.

And a stranger was with him.

And suddenly Grissom froze.

And stared.

And within seconds his eyes were wet with unshed tears.

And when the stranger reached them and Grissom shook his hand, he didn't let go right away, and his eyes never left the man's face.

It didn't make any sense to Catherine, as she watched the scene play out and listened to Nick explain that they'd gone to the lab and heard that Sara was here.

She didn't know who the newcomer was, or understand the guarded emotion or uncertainty in his eyes.

That Grissom reached out and squeezed Nick's shoulder and shot him a look of gratitude wasn't lost on her, nor was Nick's little nod or his beyond-touched expression.

The stranger looked uncomfortable, almost like he wished he could hide behind the unruly hair that fell into his eyes, and his gaze dropped to the floor briefly before he looked up at Grissom again.

"You're Grissom?"

"Gil Grissom."

The man nodded.

"Josh Sidle."

…


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's note: Much thanks to those of you who are still hanging in with this story after all of this time. I've had a busy few months for various reasons (among them that I just moved and I've had a lot of computer trouble). I so appreciate all of you who have messaged me or added a review to ask about this fic or encourage me to continue. Thanks for spurring me on. _

_FYI, unless something changes, I'm planning on two more chapters after this one. _

_Enjoy! Feedback is always a treasure… _

**Moments of Truth**

Chapter Nine

Grissom and Josh sat side by side in a pair of hard plastic chairs.

Waiting was hard.

They had everything in the world to talk about, but they said nothing to each other now.

They'd said very little to each other in the few hours since they'd met, in fact.

Grissom had made a necessarily blunt time-sensitive plea after their simple introductions.

"_I need you to be tested. For compatibility. As a donor." _

He'd sounded almost out of breath, and could only write it off as a reaction to his racing heartbeat.

They'd looked at each other silently for some of the longest seconds of Grissom's life.

He'd wondered vaguely about why he had said 'I' and not 'Sara'.

He'd wondered if that was a mistake.

He'd prepared to organize his screaming thoughts, to try to more effectively plead his case.

But then Josh had nodded. Just once. Firmly.

He'd kept his head down for a moment, his haunted eyes locked on the ground.

And then off they'd gone to find the appropriate medical personnel.

Now, alone together and waiting for the compatibility test results, every muscle in Grissom's body was tensed, every fiber of his being soaked in a kind of tangible desperation, every thought that raced through his mind trailed by the word _please_.

On an irrational, almost instinctual level, it didn't make any sense to him that he could be sitting so still at a moment when so much was at stake.

But there was nothing else to be done.

He sat looking forward, watching Sara's brother out of the corner of his eye.

Josh had yet to explicitly state that he would go through with the surgery if he tested compatible, but he had spent almost an hour perusing the pamphlets he had been provided with, and he hadn't explicitly said 'no', either.

That was a good sign, wasn't it? Grissom didn't trust his own judgment anymore.

He was so devastatingly close to this.

"How long have you been dating my sister?"

The question caught Grissom off guard. They had been sitting in silence for so long that it seemed unnatural that the other man had even spoken.

And the word _dating_… was that what he and Sara had been doing?

"We've been co-workers for years," Grissom finally answered, glancing over at Josh briefly. "And friends. The rest is… recent."

They fell into silence again for a moment.

"Her friend Nick says it's serious."

Despite the uncertainty in Josh's tone, his words held a vague note of 'what are your intentions toward my sister?' It seemed strange, to Grissom, given the apparent distance between the two siblings.

Grissom looked over at Josh, for longer than just a glance this time, and took in the anxiety on his face. He couldn't quite read the expression, and wasn't sure if he was unsettled by the idea of the surgery or if there was something else there.

"It is," Grissom finally answered him simply, and Josh nodded, and then began tearing tiny little rips into the end of one of the pamphlets he was still clinging to.

"You've been taking care of her?"

"I have."

Josh nodded again, and now Grissom thought he detected a hint of guilt or remorse in his downcast eyes.

"That's good," Sara's brother said.

Silence reigned again for several moments, and despite the turmoil going on in his own mind, it wasn't lost on Grissom that Josh drew in several slow, deep breaths.

"I'm gonna do it," Josh finally announced, and Grissom's head shot up and he froze, waiting for clarification. "If that guy comes out here and says I can do it, I'm going to do it. This living donor surgery."

Josh took another deep breath and nodded again, as if to confirm.

Grissom nodded back, a lump in his throat.

He didn't trust himself to speak. But there were no words for this, anyway.

His heart started racing again as it all sunk in.

This was one more hurdle passed.

They were getting so close.

There was so little time left.

But they were _so close_…

The doctor they had been dealing with approached mere seconds after Josh agreed to the procedure, as if on cue.

Grissom stood on legs as unsteady as they had been that first night that he had learned that Sara was sick.

He stared at the doctor expectantly, waiting for him to answer the only question there was.

And then that wonderful little man in the white coat smiled.

"You're an excellent match."

…

A blend of adrenaline and euphoria and terror had Grissom feeling a little bit sick to his stomach as he and Josh walked hurriedly, side by side, back up to Sara's room.

They felt something like partners now, discussing what needed to be done.

There was just one more hurdle to pass, to get Sara the transplant she so desperately needed.

And that last obstacle was Sara herself.

Her consent was all they needed now.

Just before they reached the door to her room, Josh gripped Grissom by the shoulder to stop him.

"You've tried talking to her about this, yeah?"

"Yes," Grissom answered him quickly. "But that was a long time ago. She was adamant that she didn't even have any family to go to then --"

"Which means she decided a long time ago not to even think about letting me do this, and nothing you said changed her mind, that about right?"

Grissom nodded impatiently.

"But a lot has changed since then," he insisted. "And I'm going to have to change her mind now."

Grissom reached for the door handle, but Josh caught him by the wrist and met his eyes.

"Let me."

Grissom opened his mouth to disagree, instinctively wary of surrendering any control of the situation to anyone else.

But the look on Josh's face stopped him. It almost stole his breath, in a way.

He hadn't noticed much of a physical resemblance between Sara and her brother upon first meeting him.

But now he saw it.

It was in the eyes.

The fierce determination lurking there.

In Sara it was a look that had always meant he'd have to spend the remaining days of an open investigation worrying about her, because come hell or high water – or a dangerous lack of food and sleep – she was going after her goal if it killed her.

That same look shone in her brother's eyes now.

And Grissom knew better than to question it.

He stepped back and let Josh enter alone.

…

Sara was asleep.

Or at least Josh hoped she was just asleep.

He watched her breathe from across the room.

She'd changed. Quite a bit.

Or maybe that was just the effects of the disease.

She looked sicker than anyone he'd ever seen.

She looked like she was barely clinging to life.

She was so damn pale. Worse off than he'd ever seen her. Even worse than when she was seven, and she'd had an ear infection that no one took seriously, and it had gotten into her blood, and she'd been so pale lying under her covers that he'd actually thought for a second that she was dead.

Guilt crept up on him now, slower than it had then.

He should have been here, should have done this sooner.

She was hurting. Again.

And her big brother was too busy getting into trouble to be any help. Again.

It was the story of their lives.

And it was on _him_.

He sank into the chair next to her bed, wondering how to go about waking her up.

When they were kids he would have hollered her name, given her a little shove, and probably been gone again before she even opened her eyes.

Now, he leaned in toward her and spoke quietly.

"Sara."

God, it felt funny to say her name like that after all of these years.

He got no reaction.

"Sara."

She still didn't stir.

"It's Josh."

Her eyes opened into tiny slits of glazed darkness.

It was strange, that that was what got her.

Maybe it was just that he'd spoken a third time at all, maybe he'd spoken a little louder…

Maybe not.

She stared up at him, her eyes opening wider, surprise and confusion registering on her face. She looked around, and then down at her own body in the hospital bed, apparently trying to determine something.

"I'm not dreaming," she finally rasped quietly.

It was a statement, not a question, and her eyes locked on him.

"No, Darlin', you're not dreaming," he confirmed.

They said nothing for a moment.

And then he felt the need to establish something.

"I'm not using, for whatever that's worth," he told her, quietly and simply. "I'm not selling, either."

"That does make us being in the same room a hell of a lot less complicated," Sara noted, with just a hint of the wry sense of humor he remembered.

They fell into silence again, and then it was her turn to speak up suddenly.

"This isn't fair," she noted simply.

His eyes narrowed in response, wondering whether she meant this disease or his very presence.

"I should get to be at my best for this," she clarified. "I like to be prepared."

"What's that like?" he teased, and he cracked a little smile.

There was something warm and familiar about this.

Talking with Sara was always either comfortably easy or painfully difficult, and today they seemed to be falling into the pattern of the old days, the one he much preferred.

"I met your boyfriend," he told her, and he didn't miss the hint of amusement that crossed her face. "What?"

"I don't think I've ever actually called him that." Her eyes closed briefly, and then opened again. "That how you knew?"

"Knew?"

"Did Grissom find you?"

"He sent a guy, Nick, a friend of yours, apparently, after me."

"And you came."

"Nick's a stubborn guy," he told her, wary of the appreciation in her tone.

"Where've you been living?"

"N.Y.C." He said it just like that, pronouncing the individual letters. "For years now."

"Any contact with Mom?" She had to ask the old familiar question, even though the answer never changed.

"None. You?"

"None."

Josh sighed and leaned back in his chair, glancing over all the medical machinery in the room.

He had to get to the point before long. Time mattered here, and he knew it.

But there was so much else that she needed to know.

"It's, uh, it's actually been years that I've been on your side of the law. Mostly, anyway. More than I used to be." He paused for just a moment. "I have a kid. Daughter. Little girl." He added this second piece of information as if it fully explained the first, because, to him, it did.

He watched Sara's face for a reaction, and felt a little unsettled when her eyes filled with tears.

And so he just kept talking.

"She's not real girly, though. Likes soccer a lot. Her mom named her Annabelle Jane. Fits her about as well as a dog named 'cat'. I like to call her A.J.. Pisses her mom off, but she seems to like it well enough. I, uh, don't see her as much as I'd like to. Better for everyone that way. She's in Albany."

He finished this rather random stream of information and found that Sara still had nothing to say, and her tears had spilled over onto her cheeks.

And so he started up again.

"I should have said already, she's six. Just barely. Her birthday was last week. I actually just got back to town, to New York, I mean, when your buddy Nick showed up."

A thought occurred to him after a minute, and he reached into the inner pocket of his denim jacket.

When he and Nick had been leaving his apartment, he'd grabbed the stack of Polaroid photos off the fridge on a whim.

He was glad to have them with him now.

"Photos don't get much more recent than this," he noted as he held them out to her, and then thought better of making her reach for them and instead held them up above her face, showing each of them to her in turn. "Kid eats like a horse, but she's thin as a rail," he noted, glancing down at the picture of A.J. and her cake. "She's smart. Sometimes I even think she's smarter than you were, but with her it's not so much the books. She's a clever little thing. I, uh… can't take credit for much of it. Never did figure out how to do the full-time dad thing."

He paused for a second, as another bit of information to impart occurred to him.

This was heavy, but then, so was the mood in the room.

And Sara had probably already seen it.

"She's got her grandma's eyes."

More tears escaped onto Sara's cheeks, and Josh sat down in his chair again, replacing the pictures in his jacket pocket.

He just looked at her for a moment, miserably.

"You okay?" he finally asked.

"I just would have liked to meet her," Sara finally whispered.

"Okay," Josh told her, simply, as if it wouldn't be a problem at all.

Their eyes met meaningfully, and he knew that she knew.

She knew exactly why he was here, and what he wanted to do.

She was just waiting for him to say it out loud.

He leaned forward again, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand, in a posture that defied the seriousness of the moment.

"I'm going to need you to do me a favor," he started carefully, in a falsely casual tone. "See, I'd really like to call up my kid in a couple of days and tell her I got to be somebody's hero."

Sara sniffled and tore her eyes away from his, staring up at the ceiling through a sheen of tears.

"She hears a lot of crap about her dad," Josh continued, keeping his voice even. "She's not supposed to, but she does. And the bitch of it is that most of it is true."

He paused for a second, waiting for Sara to turn and look at him. She did, and his voice dropped to a whisper, and his eyes filled to the brim.

"Just this one time… for you, for me, for my kid… why don't you let me pretend to be one of the good guys? That's not so much to ask for."

"You're asking me to risk your life," Sara nearly whispered, tormented by the very thought.

"It's barely a risk. Less than one percent. I take bigger risks than that every day of my life, and with a lot less to show for it."

"Josh --"

"Look, Sar --"

"I would rather cut off my own arm than have you die because of me!"

Her voice rasped painfully as she emphasized the last part, and he shook his head sadly and flicked away the latest of the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Darlin', how do you think I feel?" He waited a beat, then added, "I got enough to live with."

She stared at him for a long moment.

She was torn.

So very torn.

Fighting with herself.

Because she wanted to _live_.

She wanted _years_.

She wanted that life with Grissom that had always seemed so impossible before.

But if anything went wrong…

If Josh was part of that one percent…

And he was somebody's _dad_ now…

It was a hell of a struggle, working all of that out in her foggy mind.

She heard the door open, and suddenly Grissom was there, and it was odd, to have both him and her brother by her side at once, looking down at her, their eyes red-rimmed and watery.

With just a look, Grissom silently asked Josh for a moment alone, and to his credit, Josh took the hint and exited the room.

Grissom took the chair by the bed.

"The doctor says he's an excellent match," he offered quietly.

His eyes pleaded with her.

And her resolve started to crack.

"We could both die in surgery," Sara warned gently. "That could happen."

Grissom reached out and stroked the curve of her jaw with the back of his fingers, his touch feather-light.

"Or you could live."

He spoke plainly.

But the raw emotion was there.

And as near-silence took over, and they stared at each other for several seconds, Grissom made a choice.

He was going to have to be selfish.

Because she had to survive this.

She had to live.

And if she wasn't willing to risk her brother for her own sake, she was going to have to do it for his.

"If you don't let him do this, then you're asking me to sit here and wait for you to die."

He spoke with quiet, understated intensity.

Her eyes overflowed again.

He thought she might be about to apologize.

So he squeezed her fingers gently with his, and then pulled them to his face and kissed her knuckles softly.

"Don't ask me to do that, Sara. Please, Honey, don't ask me to do that."

He left his plea at that, and waited, watching her every breath.

Seconds passed; maybe a minute or two.

And then finally she squeezed his hand, with what little strength she had left, and she met his eyes.

Her nod was almost imperceptible, and she looked grateful and apologetic and terrified and hopeful all at once.

And he kissed her fingers again, and let his own tears fall, and then a moment later he was out in the hallway, glancing around blindly, looking for her doctor, and hearing a single phrase ringing in his ears, over and over and over again.

_Here goes everything_.

…


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's note: I'm going to forego the excuses. Suffice it to say, I wish I had posted this literally months ago, and I hope those of you who were enjoying this story before can enjoy it again. We're so close to the end now, and it's been such a great ride, at least on my end, despite the long breaks between chapters. I want this story to have the ending I always meant for it to have, and I thank all of you who reviewed for keeping me going._

_This chapter fought me tooth and nail every step of the way. I'd love to hear from you about how it turned out. _

**Moments of Truth**

Chapter Ten

"Would you get your damn head in the game?"

Officer Whitehead shook fingerprint dust from his work boots, cursing under his breath and shooting an icy glare Greg's way.

Greg looked up, and swallowed a lump in his throat.

He was too damn emotional for this job tonight.

"Sorry." Greg accompanied the words with a slow shrug of his shoulders, looking apologetic.

The burly cop shook his head and walked away.

Nick approached Greg's side, sealing an evidence bag.

"You got nothing to be sorry for," Nick told him, without meeting his eyes.

"I'm clumsy tonight."

"Happens to the best of us," Warrick chimed in from just a few feet away, gesturing to a mess of molding cement that was starting to dry on one leg of his pants.

Greg nodded his acknowledgement and turned back to continue fingerprinting the outside door knob of the first-floor motel room.

"Hey, Greg?" Nick called quietly, looking a little uneasy.

"Hmmm?"

"Greg?" Nick called again, waiting for him to _look at him_.

"What?" Greg asked, turning to meet his gaze.

"You do good work."

Nick nodded at him, as if to confirm what he was saying.

Greg just looked at him. Surprised. And then a little touched.

"Yeah," he said after a moment. "Yeah, some days, I guess. I'm no CSI-Three-Nicky-Stokes, but…"

He shot a friendly grin Nick's way, and the slight awkwardness of their serious moment was broken. Nick allowed himself a little smile too. And then got back to work.

Greg finished with the fingerprints quickly, and then found himself wandering toward the motel parking lot, looking for Brass.

"Hey," he greeted when he found him, standing off to the side of the action, supervising. Or maybe just thinking.

"Hey. How's it goin' over there?"

"Typical, save for a minor mishap or two. How are things on your end?"

"Going about as well as usual," Brass told him, in a tone that said that that wasn't very well.

"You doing okay?" Greg asked as casually as he could manage.

"Sure, sure. You know."

"Yeah."

The two men watched the crime scene rather than each other.

"Hey Brass?"

"Yeah?"

"You think they've started yet?"

Jim Brass sighed as he looked at his watch.

"Not yet. But soon."

…

Gil Grissom silently cursed himself.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Even now… even with the person he was closest to in this whole damn cruel world about to go into a surgery she might not survive… even when the least rational parts of him wanted to cry or scream or plead…

Even when it might be a case of _now or never_…

He still wasn't sure he could say what he needed to say.

He'd made an unconscious but very real promise to himself so very many years ago, to be so very careful with three particularly tender words.

Even if he was ready to say it – and he wasn't altogether sure that he wasn't – he didn't know how to go about it.

And so he stood outside her hospital room, and waited.

He watched the others come and go. Saying whatever they needed to say.

He waited his turn. Dreaded his turn.

And cursed himself.

…

Grissom and the others had told Sara to keep a positive attitude, to believe she would survive the surgery just fine.

She couldn't think like that, Greg had told her again and again.

But she had to think like that.

She didn't want to be positive.

She wanted to be prepared.

She wanted goodbyes.

She had shared a few words with Brass earlier, during a brief visit, and though they hadn't had time to say much before he had to get back to work, they'd both said all that they needed to say the day that she had told him that she was sick.

Nick and Warrick and Greg had all been by, separately, just before shift. All of them wanting her to know how hard it was going to be to work tonight. All of them wanting to know what they could do for her.

She'd asked Nick and Warrick to keep an eye on Greg for her. If it came to that. To tell him, once in a while, because she couldn't anymore, that he was good at his job.

She'd also thanked Nick, of course. For finding her brother. For giving her a chance.

He'd gotten teary. She'd gotten teary. It was the story of her life, lately.

She'd asked Greg to find a way to be there for the others. If it came to that. To check in with them, make sure they were doing okay. She'd asked him this for his own sake. Because all she had left to give him was something to give her.

Now, Sara needed to speak to her brother before anyone else.

He was preparing for surgery, too, after all, and he needed time to say a potential goodbye of his own.

It was a just-in-case sort of goodbye, since the risks were far lower for Josh, but Sara knew he planned to run up a bit of a phone bill calling a certain special six-year-old in Albany.

Sara was tempted to get in on that phone call herself, to speak to the niece she'd never met, and tell her that she was her family, and she'd been thinking a lot lately about what family meant, and that she wanted to know her.

But that wouldn't be fair to the kid. Especially not if she died. And there was no denying that she might.

She'd have to send her a message.

Just in case.

"You do me a favor?" Sara asked quietly when Josh came into her room again.

"_Another_ one?" Josh teased, a gentle smile on his face as he made his way over to her bedside.

"You'll tell her about me?"

"Already have," he told her simply. "But I'll tell her again."

"Tell her I wanted to know her."

"I will." He waited a beat. "But five bucks says you'll be telling her yourself."

He forced a smile when she said nothing in response.

"What's the matter?" He asked lightly. "Not a better? Aren't you supposed to be from Vegas?"

"Could you stop…" she asked him, feeling her throat tighten with the threat of tears for what must have been the millionth time. "Could you just stop pretending this is no big deal? When I'm lying here… trying to figure out how a person says thank you… for something like this…" she whispered the last of this, and hot tears filled her eyes.

"Far as I'm concerned, Darlin," he started, his voice barely louder than hers. "This is just us getting closer to 'even'."

She opened her mouth to say something, and he cut her off.

"We'll save the mushy stuff for later."

He squeezed her hand, bent over to kiss her forehead briefly.

Her tears spilled over onto her cheeks, and she watched him nod and then turn to head for the door.

He stopped just before exiting the room. Hesitating. Afraid to leave her, because he knew as well as she did that this could be _it_. All they'd have left together, after all of these years.

Truth be told, he was all talk. He wasn't any more sure than she was that this would turn out right. Life had never favored either of them much.

He stood there by the door, and pressed his lips together hard for moment, warding off tears of his own.

"Always did love you more than I ever said," he told her. "Still do."

He nodded to himself, and tried to turn and leave.

"Hey," she called.

He turned back, his head bowed but his eyes looking up at her.

"Goes for me too," she told him.

"_I'll see you later_," he half promised and half pleaded.

And then he slipped out, and she lay there, in near silence, waiting.

Catherine approached her bedside a moment later. Looking a little overwhelmed, and a lot determined.

She sat down, ready to get right to the point.

But Sara had something she'd been meaning to say, too.

"Can I ask you a favor?" Sara asked, before Catherine could speak.

"Sure," Catherine answered easily, fully expecting Sara to ask her to be there for Grissom if she didn't make it through.

Sara struggled to take a deep breath.

She'd thought about this too many times… and never said it out loud…

"Lindsey's going to want to know everything… about Eddie. She saw him hurt. And he died. And he was her dad." Sara broke off for a second. "And I've been that girl… Sooner or later, she's going to ask a lot of questions."

"She's, uh… she asks me about it once in a blue moon."

"When she wants to know everything… when trying to understand who he was and why he died starts to mean a lot to her… when she wants to know why no one was ever punished…" Sara's face crumbled into tears. "Can you just promise me you'll tell her I tried?"

"Sara…" Catherine shook her head, getting more than a little emotional herself. "It's not… you gotta know that… " She shook her head some more, at a loss, then finally just nodded. "I'll tell her. She'll know."

Sara managed a hint of a nod.

"I'll tell her," Catherine continued, "That some cases can't be solved, and it's no one's fault except the person who committed the crime. And then I'll tell her that there are a lot more bad guys who got away from me than you." Catherine waited a beat. "Of course, then I'll have to point out to her that that's only because I've been at this job longer than you."

They shared a sad little smile, and then Catherine took a deep breath. Ready to say what she'd come in here to say.

"You should know…" she started, the words sounding sincere but rehearsed, "I know we've had our differences. But we've always been two smart women on the same side of the fight. And I've always known that. And it always mattered."

Sara gave her a crooked little smile.

"You hated me."

"I hated that I had no reason not to respect you." Catherine paused. "And that was a long time ago." She paused again, took another deep breath. "I'm not eager to deal with the trail of broken men you'd leave in your wake," Catherine told her. "And as much as I didn't want you on the team when you first got here… that's about as much as I'd hate to see you go now. Especially like this. So you're going to have to win this fight."

"I'll try."

Catherine nodded, and then got up and wandered toward the door, seeming unsure about whether she was finished with this little visit or not.

She did make her way out the door after a moment, and then it seemed to Sara that she was alone for a long time.

It was probably just a few mere minutes. But she might not have many left.

When Grissom finally stepped into the room, she had the thought that he looked about as shaky and pale as everyone said she did.

He sat down by her bed, and leaned in close to her, and reached out with a feather-light touch to brush his fingers over hers.

He couldn't seem to look at her.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

So she went first.

"Do you remember… the first time we met… the first time we talked… you commented about… that I was one of six women at the seminar…" She studied his eyes, noted the vague recognition.

"Yes."

"And I told you," she continued, a bit breathless. "That… statistically… most girls lose interest in science by sixth grade. That the call to be cool is just too strong. And you looked at me… and you said it was tragic…" She paused, and he turned dark, watery eyes up to meet hers. "You used that word," she told him meaningfully. "And I just stood there, looking at you… thinking, 'here's this man, who's seen what he's seen and knows all the horror of the world as well as he does… and to him, this is tragic.'" She paused, waiting for him to meet her eyes. "And just for the record… in case you were wondering… Because it seems to me that this is something you should know… I'm pretty sure that that's when I fell for you. Right then and there."

He exhaled a ragged breath, squeezing one of her hands between his.

"Sara…" his voice nearly trembled. "I don't… I don't want to say that you're everything to me. I've never wanted to say that…" He paused for a long moment. His eyes tortured. His jaw set. "But Honey, I think it might be true…" He took a breath, composed himself a bit. "I let things get in the way, and it wasn't just the job… and I'm not saying this now because it looks like I won't have to face a real relationship with you, because I wish I could count on having to face that fear instead of this one. I hope, I pray, that…" He quieted. Grappling for the words. And when he finally found them, they weren't his own. "That, 'this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.'"

He looked into her eyes, and waited. Seeing recognition there. Hoping she would have the answer.

Because it would mean so much.

Just to know. To be reminded. To be reassured.

That they were still riding that same wavelength.

Still united by their twin minds.

Like they always had been.

Like maybe somewhere in this crazy twisted world there was some semblance of something _meant to be_.

"Winston Churchill," Sara breathed.

Grissom nodded.

And broke down.

"I do love you," he murmured. "God help me, I do love you."

…

For too many hours Grissom sat through that unique hell that is waiting while a loved one goes through a surgery that might not be survived.

For all the peculiarities of his character, this experience really wasn't any different for him than for anyone else.

He sat still and tense until Catherine made him get up and walk, because his hands were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had gone white, and the rest of him was hunched over in his chair in much the same state.

He paced for a while. Thinking. If a random series of curses and pleas and bargains with any available higher power could be called thinking.

He'd give her everything he had. He'd promise forever. He'd be someone's husband, and even someone's father, if that's what she wanted. He'd do it all. Without a second's hesitation. If they could just have more time…

When his legs threatened to fail him, he sat down.

Several times he stopped just short of _begging_ Catherine to get someone to get some answers.

It was too damn many agonizing hours before they finally had something to tell him.

But nothing had ever been more wholly worth the wait.

"Things went as well as can be expected," the doctor informed them.

And Grissom's knees threatened to give out again.

"She's… she's… she's okay, she's doing well…?"

Grissom cautiously released the breath he was holding, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"As well as can be expected," the doctor repeated, and though there was a note of warning in his tone, Grissom didn't hear it.

He heard very little after that, in fact.

He tried to listen, to get the relevant information, but he couldn't hear over the rushing blood in his hears, couldn't see through the sheen of his own tears.

"She had her transplant," he said to Catherine, when the doctor had gone.

Just wanting to hear those words out loud.

"I know," Catherine said, indulgently, smiling.

"And she's doing well."

"Reasonably well. I heard."

"I… need to go find out when I can see her."

"I'll call the others," Catherine offered, and Grissom looked up at her as if that thought had never occurred to him.

"Yes. Please do."

She gave his shoulder a quick squeeze, then pulled out her phone and turned to wander down the hall in the opposite direction from him.

She never saw him drop into one of the ugly little hard plastic chairs. Never saw the single, pronounced rise and fall of his shoulders and chest as the relief hit.

He sat with Sara just as soon as they let him.

Rejecting the thought that there were still no guarantees.

Embracing the thought that she was _healing_.

Still weak, still sick, still lying in a hospital bed, pale and lifeless and hooked up to too many machines…

But it all looked so different now.

She was _healing_ rather than _dying_.

Getting better rather than worse.

And now _they_ had a future. _Together. _

It was an absolutely mindblowing thought.

He couldn't picture it.

But he held onto it. And to her hand.

And he remembered the important things.

Sara was okay. And Sara was everything.

That was what he had established today.

Sara was okay. And Sara was everything.

And this was just the end of the beginning.

…


	11. Chapter 11

_Author's note: This is it, folks. It's been a wonderful ride. CSI fans are some of the most thoughtful readers and reviewers I've ever come across, and I have to thank every one of you. I only wish I could have written and posted this on a regular schedule. But regardless, I'm thrilled to be able to finish it, and thrilled with how it ended up. _

_This is an epilogue of sorts. One last time – enjoy!_

**Moments of Truth**

Chapter Eleven 

The first time Sara woke would forever be a mystery to her.

The moment belonged to Grissom alone.

She was under the influence of far too many drugs to remember a brief moment of semi-consciousness.

But he remembered it well.

When her eyes opened they barely opened. They couldn't seem to focus on any particular thing. But then they fell on him. And he was sure that she could see him.

He'd just barely smiled at her. The slightest upward curve of his lips.

And he'd told her softly –

"You're healing now, Honey."

The term of endearment had slipped easily from his lips. (It would soon become commonplace.)

He'd been holding her hand again. Or, more accurately, _still_ holding her hand.

They'd just watched each other's eyes for a long moment, and if anyone had asked him he would have sworn that she felt the weight of those words, however briefly.

She'd slipped back under after mere seconds.

But he had been there, as he'd promised himself he would be, when she first opened her eyes.

He finally allowed himself to leave her after that. To eat, and shower, and perhaps even get a few hours of sleep in a real bed.

But he would be back.

Again and again.

…

The second time Sara woke would become a hazy memory.

She opened her eyes to find that Grissom was asleep in a chair by her bed, and an undoubtedly medically-dulled pain refused to stop tugging at her side.

The pain wouldn't leave her alone, and the fog that enveloped her head was almost worse.

She wanted to drift away again, to embrace the oblivion of sleep.

But her mind was just clear enough to remember where she was and why.

And she had to know…

"Griss…" Her own voice sounded like it was coming from far away. And like her throat was lined with sandpaper, too. "Griss… Gil…"

She could only speak barely louder than a whisper, and turning her head to face him more fully was an effort.

But he stirred, and opened his eyes, and smiled when he saw her awake.

"Hi," he said softly. And then he noticed the fear in her eyes. "What's wrong? I can get your doctor."

"No," she murmured, when he was already standing to go to the door.

He turned back, and sat down again.

"You're okay," he told her. "You're doing well. The doctors are impressed."

He was trying to reassure her, his heart planted firmly in the right place.

But he was missing the point altogether.

"Josh?" she asked.

"He's fine," Grissom replied quickly, mentally reprimanding himself for forgetting about her brother. "Nick came by when you were out, and he checked in with Josh while he was here. He's doing well. And as I understand it, you have a young niece coming into town to see him."

He watched her features relax, as much as they could when she was clearly in some pain.

Her eyes closed, and stayed closed for several seconds, and he thought she was about to drift off again.

But then a moment later she opened her eyes and spoke up.

"What happens now?" she asked him quietly. And he could hear the extra layer of meaning in her tone. The one that told him she wasn't asking anything simple. As dazed as she looked, she wanted to know what would happen now that it seemed this illness wouldn't function as an odd glue holding them together.

But he didn't have a ready-made answer. And she didn't look like she could handle that discussion right now, anyway.

"Now, you get some rest," he told her.

And she didn't fight him.

Because escaping into sleep sounded really good to her.

She could let it go.

They had time now, after all.

They'd figure it out.

…

The third time Sara woke Josh was in a wheelchair by her bedside.

He was pale, and wearing a hospital gown, and smiling at her.

And there was an endearingly tousled and vaguely familiar six-year-old by his side.

"You owe me that five bucks," Josh told her, a playful gleam in his eyes.

It took her a minute to sift through her memory and figure out what he meant, and then she gave him a tired little smile and slowly turned her head toward her niece.

"AJ, I'm Sara," she said, adopting the nickname Josh had said he had for her. "I'm… actually… your Aunt Sara."

The kid nodded and shrugged and smiled.

"I know. He told me."

"I'd like to spend some time with you, get to know you," Sara said simply, and the kid's smile grew.

"You should come to New York, when I'm there with my dad, an' take me to Centro' Park, and we can show you where to get the good pretzels."

Sara smiled another little smile.

"That sounds like fun."

"Do you have any kids?"

The abrupt question threw Sara for a moment. She spent so little time with children, and the ones she did see were often traumatized. That they thought everyone should be as open as they were was something she'd have to get used to.

"No, I don't," Sara answered her, glancing at Josh, who seemed amused by the exchange.

"Are you going to?" AJ asked curiously, sounding vaguely hopeful. "'Cause I got a baby cousin named Jenna and she's really cute and I really like baby cousins." Before Sara could come up with a response to _that_, AJ started up again. "Are you married?"

"No." Sara shook her head back and forth a bit, starting to share in Josh's amusement as the questions continued.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Yes."

"What's his name? Is he cute?"

Stifling a chuckle, Sara raised her heavy arm from her side and gestured to the drawer in the little table by her bed.

"Tell you what… can you open that drawer there? I think they've got my wallet in there."

AJ was quick to do as Sara asked, and a moment later she flung the well-worn wallet onto the bed.

"Check behind the driver's license."

AJ didn't seem quite sure what she meant, but Josh was quick to help her out. He pulled the old photo of Grissom out and handed it to his daughter.

"That's him," Josh told her.

AJ looked at the picture for a moment, then at her newfound aunt.

"It's kind of bent and wrinkly."

"It's been in there a long time," Sara told her.

And it had been. It had been in there for years.

It was at that moment that Grissom came shuffling into the room, ancient-looking textbook in hand, apparently expecting to have time to kill.

He stopped short when he saw Sara's 'visitors'.

"Hi," Sara greeted him, smiling rather peacefully.

Grissom started to return the smile, but was quickly distracted by the six-year-old holding something out to him eagerly.

"It's you!" AJ pointed out with a grin. "'Cept, you look different."

Grissom took the picture from her and examined it.

"I look younger," he explained, and then he turned questioning eyes toward Sara, wondering how she could have possibly kept an old 'Faculty Directory' photo of him with her for all of these years.

He realized after a moment that the little girl was watching him, and he met her eyes.

"I guess you must be Annabelle Jane."

"Uh huh. And you are my aunt's boyfriend," she replied, announcing what she knew in the way that kids like to do, as if just to prove that they're up to speed.

The little girl kept looking at him, apparently expecting him to say something else.

He wasn't sure how to go about having a serious conversation with a six-year-old – he had enough trouble with adults – and so he settled on asking the one question he actually wanted to ask of Sara's niece.

"Do you like bugs?"

AJ's eyes lit up.

"I like to scare Jimmy Dickerson, 'cause he's a boy and he thinks he's real smart and tough but some days he's not because I show him a spider and he runs away!"

The girl chuckled to herself, and Josh reached out to ruffle her hair with his hand.

"I've been talking about getting her a pet tarantula, but her mom won't go for it."

"A tarantula is actually a terrific pet for a young child," Grissom said, sounding rather defensive, and getting a smile out of Sara. "They require minimal maintenance, and once you get beyond the cultural taboo, the educational value is --"

"Excuse me." A new voice broke into the conversation, and they all looked up to see Sara's doctor approaching, and looking mildly displeased. "I find it hard to believe that anyone on this floor approved multiple visitors. Or that you, Mr. Sidle, are even out of bed. I need to take a look at your sister's stitches and redress the wound, and I would bet Dr. Ramos is looking to do the same for you."

The doctor fixed a stern look on Josh, and Josh turned to Grissom.

"You want to do me a favor, wheel me back that-a-way?" he asked, nodding his head toward the door.

"Sure," Grissom agreed, and AJ fell into step with him as the three of them headed out the door. "I'll be right back," Grissom said over his shoulder, to Sara.

They left the door open, and Sara could hear them as they walked away.

She heard AJ say, in the same challenging tone she probably used on the playground with Jimmy Dickerson: "Did you know my dad's a hero?"

Grissom returned: "Did you know your aunt is too?"

…

The first time Sara was allowed out into the fresh air, she was with Nick and Warrick and Greg.

They were just getting off of shift.

And she was in a wheelchair.

Hospital-frickin'-policy.

"Catch me up," Sara asked of them, as Warrick pushed her up across from a bench in the little hospital courtyard.

The three men sat down on the bench, side by side.

"What, work stuff? You want the gossip or the cases?" Warrick asked.

"Hate to tell you this, Sara, but you still _are_ the gossip," Nick told her, smiling.

"Is it gossip if it's concern?" Greg asked, truly wanting to know.

"I'd say no," Warrick answered. "Unless it's Hodges. He can't help himself. That guy breathes gossip."

"That's… astute, but what I actually want to know is, has Ecklie said anything about breaking up the team?" Sara clarified.

Nick and Warrick exchanged a glance.

"You mean, like…" Greg started, carefully. "Because you're hooking up with your supervisor?"

"Yeah. That." Sara said, the tiniest smile playing with her lips at Greg's choice of words.

"You should probably talk to Griss about that," Warrick said quietly, avoiding her eyes, and distractedly smushing someone's old cigarette butt with his shoe.

"You seriously expect me to take that?" Sara looked from Nick, to Warrick, to Greg. "How long have we been working together?"

Nick sighed. Cracking.

"All right, but I want it on the record that we tried not to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"It's not finalized yet. Which is, I think, why we're not supposed to talk about it," Nick started.

"Talk about _what_?" Sara asked again.

"Grissom's been working on Ecklie for days now," Nick continued. "Trying to set it up so we're still a unit, but… Cath does all your evaluations, your supervisory stuff."

Sara looked at him for a minute, determined he was serious, and sat back heavily against the back of her chair.

Catherine as a friend was turning out to be a great thing.

But Catherine as a supervisor…

Warrick read the look on her face.

"She's not so bad," he offered.

"She's great. When she's not on a power kick," Sara told him.

"She learned a lot leading us." Nick added his two cents. "She got pretty good at, you know… being a team player. Just with more paperwork."

"Far be it for me to be the one to bring this up," Greg piped up, "But I'm just glad you'll be back at work at all."

He gave Sara a meaningful look.

She met his eyes. Nodded slowly.

He was right.

He was _so_ right.

…

The day that Sara came home from the hospital began awkwardly.

Grissom stepped into the apartment behind her, and neither of them were sure what to do.

It was easy to be there together when they were both sure she needed him.

Now…

"Do you want me to stay?" Grissom asked simply, when he'd guided her over to the couch and helped her sit down.

"Yes." There was no doubt in her mind.

He sat down next to her.

"Do you feel all right?" He asked.

"Not too bad," she told him.

A moment passed in silence.

"Do you have any work with you?" Sara asked him.

He had to consider the question for a moment.

"I've got some case files and related texts in the back seat."

"Anything from the triple murder at the Tangiers?"

"Warrick's case?" He looked surprised that she'd even heard of it.

"He was telling me about it the other day. He's completely baffled. And I'd love to be the CSI who caught the bad guy from her sick bed."

He smiled at her.

"Well, if anyone can do it…"

"Think that would impress my new supervisor?" Sara asked, a slight note of something almost like bitterness in her tone.

"She's just going to handle evaluations and any necessary disciplinary action," Grissom reassured her. Then the serious look on his face turned to one of amusement. "Or, as Ecklie put it, the 'inevitable eventual suspensions'."

They shared a smile, and then Sara nodded her head toward her front door.

"Can you go get me the files on some case or other?"

"Now?"

"I need to feel like a criminalist again. Just for an hour or so."

She spoke quietly. Hopefully. And the look on her face told him she meant it, with everything in her. That she craved a chance to feel useful again, if only for a few moments.

And so he didn't argue with her.

He went out to the car and returned a few moments later with a bundle of books and file folders.

They worked side by side for well over the hour or so she had promised to limit herself to.

They made some progress on a double homicide. Curled up together on her couch. Both of them relishing the moment, the blend of the good old days with the new.

And when she started getting dozy, he made sure she remembered her medication, and made sure she got into bed for the night, and he kissed her goodbye and returned to his townhouse. He was sure that she would get a better night's sleep if she had the bed to herself.

He was sure that they both needed their own space, too.

Neither of them were quite sure how the day-to-day progression of their relationship would work from here on out.

But they both wanted more evenings like this.

…

Sara's first day back at work also marked her first day working under Catherine.

She had just slammed shut her locker door when Catherine appeared in the doorway of the locker room.

"You have a minute?" Catherine asked.

"You have an assignment for me?"

"No, but I'm sure Grissom does." Catherine gave her a puzzled look. "Did no one explain to you how this is supposed to work?"

"Guess I just wasn't sure the reality was going to be the same as the explanation," Sara told her, trying out complete honesty.

"Walk and talk with me," Catherine requested, beckoning for Sara to follow her down the hall.

"What's up?" Sara asked.

"Well, there's just a little something I want you to… see," she said cryptically, and she gestured to the break room just a little further down the hall.

Sara followed her gaze, and slowed her step.

The little room was full of people.

Their team, several lab techs.

A good chunk of their shift, gathered around a cake. And grinning at her.

Catherine had to all but shove Sara into the room, and Sara looked around, trying to figure out the appropriate reaction as a muddled chorus of 'welcome back!' rang out around the room.

She was definitely touched.

"Did you do this?" she asked Grissom, a little smile gracing her lips.

"It wasn't my idea and I didn't buy the cake," he told her. "So, no. But I fully supported the idea."

He smiled at her, eyes twinkling, and for a second she thought he was going to kiss her right there in front of everyone.

Instead, he turned and picked up a little plastic cup full of some kind of brightly colored punch, and handed it to her.

"Lots to celebrate," he told her. And while he said it simply, that he really meant it shone in his eyes.

He was happy, like she couldn't ever remember seeing him.

She loved that she was a big part of putting that look on his face.

"Ecklie's going to have us cleared out of here in about five minutes flat," Greg piped up from somewhere behind them. "So let's chow down while we can."

At that, Hodges began cutting the cake.

It seemed to Sara that she was expected to mingle, and she turned to Greg first.

"Was all this your doing?" she asked curiously.

"I bought the plastic cups," he said with a grin. "But really, you can thank your new supervisor."

He nodded his head in Catherine's general direction, where she was standing chatting with Wendy by the door.

Sara looked back at Greg, and he nodded at her.

"Seriously," he added, just for good measure, as he wandered away to get his slice of cake.

And Sara made her way over to Catherine. Not sure if she should feel bad for pre-judging her as a supervisor or not.

"They tell me you had a lot to do with all this," Sara acknowledged, when Catherine had seen her approaching.

"Just figured we should start things out on the right foot," Catherine told her. "Can't promise we'll stay there, but… thought that counts, right?"

Sara nodded.

"What was it you said to me, that day in the hospital? Two smart women on the same side of the fight?"

Catherine nodded, and Sara nodded back at her.

Off to a good start.

…

Sara's first trip to Manhattan to visit her brother and niece was a joy.

The four-day-weekend also marked the first time she and Grissom had travelled together on a purely personal vacation.

They stayed in a hotel, and spent afternoons and evenings with Josh and AJ.

It was deliciously new, to vacation together. To stay in bed as long as they pleased, and order room service as often as they liked.

They had long since fallen into a rhythm in their intertwined personal and professional lives.

She still had her place, he still had his.

They had discovered that they both needed space of their own, and time to themselves.

But they were solid. She was certain of that.

Her illness hadn't been the 'glue' between them. Or at least not the only glue.

It had just brought their lives into focus.

And at this point, she didn't even really regret it.

The Hepatitis C still lived in her blood. But it was treatable now, with the new liver.

She could live her life.

And what a life it had become.

On the third day away, the day before they had to return to Las Vegas, they spent a warm, beautiful afternoon in Central Park.

About a half hour into it, Josh was nodding off on a park bench beside her, while Grissom knelt beside AJ in a field somewhere off to their left. Catching caterpillars.

She closed her eyes and savored the moment. The breeze, the company, her own health.

AJ still liked to ask her whether she was ever going to have any babies. Whether there would be another cute baby cousin.

It was something Sara couldn't confront seriously out loud.

She wasn't sure it was something she wanted, but she needed to believe that it still _could_ happen, if at some point in the necessarily near future she decided to really consider it.

She didn't want to know the facts. Didn't want to do research, didn't want to know how likely it was that the chemo could have screwed it all up for her. She didn't really even want to consider that she and Grissom weren't getting any younger.

She just wanted to keep the possibility of it in the back of her mind, like a vague dream she could pull out and play with in these moments, when family seemed like such a fabulous thing.

Josh was snoring softly beside her now, and AJ shrieked with delight at something or other that Grissom was holding out in his hands.

Sara opened her eyes just long enough to take in the sight of it, and then let them drift shut again, vaguely aware that a little smile had found its way onto her lips.

Maybe this was it. Maybe this was all the family she'd ever have.

But if that was the case, it was just fine.

Wonderful, even.

Sara Sidle had finally joined the ranks of the lucky ones.

…


End file.
